Once Upon a Time Again
by Lawson227
Summary: During Marlowe's bachelorette party, Karen lets slip a very long-held secret. A secret that involves Carlton and that threatens to change... everything. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**AN:** Okay, admittedly, this one is _way _off the rails in terms of AU storytelling, at least, with respect to certain aspects of Karen and Carlton's character backgrounds. _However_, while this one may require a bit of eye-squinting and handwavium, at the same time I believe there's enough evidence within the show as it stands, to support this little bit of storytelling.

And well, you know, the whole, "fan-fiction" bit.

Also, we all know the drill, right? Standard disclaimers, when it comes to **_psych_**, I've got bubkes outside of the plot bunnies, blah, blah, blah. So without further ado…

* * *

_Las Vegas_

"Your turn, Juliet."

"No… really, it's not anything…"

"Which means it's _totally_ something. Come on, give it up."

Karen laughed as O'Hara turned pinker by the second. "Marlowe's right, Juliet. Judging by your reaction, it's definitely something good."

"Okay, fine." Juliet tossed back her the remains of whatever cocktail the bartender had kept flowing in a never ending stream and straightened her shoulders. "One night in college, I… fooled around with my roommate. My, um… _female_ roommate." Fanning herself, she reached for the fresh drink that had already appeared and tossed back a healthy slug.

Karen grinned as she and Marlowe lifted their glasses and toasted the furiously blushing O'Hara. "And is Shawn aware of this little peccadillo?"

"Are you kidding?" Juliet's brows rose over the rim of her upraised glass. "He'd probably demand a reenactment. He wanted that sort of wish fulfillment, he should have taken his ass off to college like I did."

The three women collapsed in helpless fits of laughter that lasted through another round of drinks. With yet another fresh round before them, Marlowe and Juliet leveled identical gazes in Karen's direction, making it clear neither of them had forgotten she'd yet to offer her own contribution to their little bachelorette party game.

"Oh, Karen…" Marlowe sing-songed as Juliet lifted a brow.

"Sorry, girls, I've got nothin'."

And meant it, too. She'd been married and a parent and a cop and a chief and… and… _responsible_ for so damned long, even an unpaid parking ticket could have qualified as scandalous. Sadly, she couldn't even lay claim to _that_.Even her divorce fell under the banner of "doing the right thing," for a host of reasons . Evidence of just how boring she'd become, this overnighter to Vegas to celebrate the end of Marlowe's single days was the most impetuous she'd been since…

Well, since...

"Come on, Karen," Juliet protested. "You've got to have at least _one_ indiscretion somewhere in your history."

"I…" she started to defer once more, but instead heard a long-held secret emerging. "Vick wasn't my first married name."

She giggled and gulped more of her drink, suddenly feeling as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. Only her parents and her ex—well, both of them—had been aware of her first marriage. Her first, disastrous, what on earth could she have been thinking, marriage.

Hell, she knew what she'd been thinking. She'd been flush with lust and love—she thought—and had been thinking forever.

Too bad she'd been the only one.

"Oh, come _on_—" Juliet leaned forward, her eyes somewhat glazed, but still sharp. "You can't leave it there. You were _married_?"

"Yeah." Karen smiled, still floating on a cloud of relief and the euphoria of maybe more liquor than was wise. "For six weeks. It was all very impetuous and romantic in a way that things can only be when you're nineteen and madly in love."

"You almost sound as if you've still got some unrequited feelings going on," Marlowe observed as she sipped from her drink.

Karen sighed and leaned back against the velvet banquette cushions. "For the boy he was… maybe. You know what they say about never really forgetting your first love." Although Lord knows she'd done her damnedest. And for the most part, she'd succeeded beyond anyone's expectations. Or at least her own. Back then, the thought of forgetting him—of tucking him into a dark, hidden corner of her heart and trying to pretend he'd never happened—that _they'd_ never happened—had seemed nigh on impossible.

"What was he like?" Juliet asked as she distributed yet another fresh round and good God, how many did that make? Too many probably, but Karen was beyond caring at this point. She hadn't felt this free and easy—so much like the girl she'd once been—in far, far too long.

"Lovely." Another smile—a secret one—as her heart and mind wandered down a path on which she'd so long kept the door firmly closed. "So smart and almost unbearably sweet—quiet and shy and kind of awkward around other people, but if you got him going on a topic he was interested in or managed to get him alone…" She sighed. "So, _so_ lovely."

"Something tells me the _lovely_ wasn't just about the smart and sweet," Juliet observed with another raised eyebrow glance.

Heat that had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol she'd consumed bloomed deep in Karen's midsection and spread outward, leaving her limp and boneless.

_So tall and rangy… the wavy coal black hair and thick brows and inky lashes setting off wide cheekbones dusted with freckles and a cheeky smile and the largest, bluest eyes I'd ever seen in my entire life. _

_I spent so many hours just draped over him doing nothing more than gazing into those eyes, attempting to decipher all the mysteries hidden behind the myriad shades of blue and gray._

_Thought I had my whole life in front of me to spend on those mysteries._

The throbbing bass of the music echoed the heavy beating of her heart as she remembered far more than she'd allowed herself in years. As a matter of fact, if anyone had actually been aware and had asked, she would have sworn she'd forgotten most of it. She'd _had_ to make herself forget, if only to get over the devastating hurt when it had ended. Then after, when the rest of her life had begun, there'd been no room to remember.

It had all been about self-preservation.

"Wow. That's amazing."

Blinking, Karen emerged from the fuzzy cloud of her memories, except they hadn't seemed all that fuzzy. They'd seemed as crisp and sharp and achingly real as if each beautiful moment had only occurred the day before.

Taking another restorative sip of her drink, Karen replied with a idle, "What is?" to Marlowe's slightly awed statement.

"I mean, it's crazy, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were describing Carlton."

Karen realized then she must have been ruminating out loud, although for the life of her, she couldn't quite recall exactly what she'd said. At the very least, enough to have Juliet nodding in wide-eyed agreement with Marlowe's assessment.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the loosening of the tight bands of responsibility against which she'd been chafing more and more of late and who knew, maybe it was even the residual jealousy she could only now admit to herself she'd been experiencing ever since Carlton had announced that he and Marlowe were getting married and she'd offered up what she would have sworn were sincere congratulations, but once again, Karen found herself confessing a secret she'd held close for far too long.

"I am."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Carlton pounded on the door, long enough and hard enough to have other hotel patrons poking their heads out of their doors, looking dazed and/or annoyed—at least until he flashed his badge and snarled at them to back the hell off. The tourists looked sheepish and/or alarmed and hastily ducked back in their rooms while the regulars merely shrugged and ducked back into their rooms while still looking annoyed.

Not that he gave a rat's ass. All he wanted was the door to open. _Now_.

"Goddammit, I know you're still in there. If you don't open the door right now, I swear to God, I will shoot the damned thing open."

Never mind if he drew his weapon he'd find himself in the pokey and being treated like some common crazy-assed criminal by the local cops. At least they'd have the crazy-assed part right.

Of all the hare-brained, thoughtless, stupid, drunken, _idiotic_ things to do—

He resumed pounding, his fist aching under the strain. Behind him, the elevator pinged, followed by a "Sir. _Sir—_we've been receiving complaints about the noise, you _will_ have to settle down or Security will escort you from the premises. _Sir_—"

With a growled, "Buzz off," to the officious little twerp and the two gorillas who'd accompanied him—presumably "Security"—he continued pounding, ignoring the increasingly agitated "_Sir_—" followed by "Oh my God, he's got a weapon!"

Just as one of the gorillas grabbed his arm, the door swung open, revealing a bleary and disheveled O'Hara. Her eyes widened, followed almost immediately by a wince as she lifted a hand to shade them from the light. Not that there was much, considering the shades were drawn in the suite, leaving it dim and even the hallway wasn't all that bright because hell, this was Vegas. They left the bright lights for the Strip and the casinos.

"Carlton, what the _hell_?"

"Where is she?" he snapped, shaking off the gorilla's hand only to feel it replaced by a near-bruising grip. Only the barest thread of control and awareness that a fight would derail him from his objective kept him from taking a swing at the oversized jackass.

"Ma'am, do you know this gentleman?" the officious little twerp bleated with a concerned look at the holster barely concealed by Carlton's casual jacket.

One hand still to her head, O'Hara gestured with the other that they should pipe down. "Yeah… I do. He's my partner. On the Santa Barbara Police Force," she added hastily as one of the gorillas made a move to protectively step between them, clearly misinterpreting her use of "partner." "We're here with his fiancée." Glaring balefully at Carlton beneath her upraised hand, she added with no small measure of acid, "Whom I presume is still asleep."

"Actually, no, she's not." With an impatient jerk, he yanked his arm free from Gorilla #1 and stepped past O'Hara into the suite.

"God, Carlton, what the hell is going on? Why are you even here? Actually—hold that thought. _Quietly_." She held a hand up and turned to the twerp and his bipedal minions. "You can go ahead and go—everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" One of the gorillas—apparently having mastered the intricacies of speech—posed the question.

"Absolutely." O'Hara drew herself up to her full height—slight by comparison to the gorillas, but that didn't matter. Her "You can go—_now_," was quiet and steely, and even clad in a tank top and sweat pants and clearly hung over to all hell and back, she exuded an unmistakable authority. Carlton would've laughed at how fast the gorillas retreated if he wasn't so goddamned _pissed_.

As soon as O'Hara closed and locked the door behind the Keystone Kop contingent, Carlton ground out, "Where. Is. She?" enunciating every word very slowly and distinctly while his gaze ranged over the surroundings, taking stock of the expansive suite.

The immense sofa, littered with twisted sheets and pillows bearing indentations, was clearly where O'Hara had crashed the night before, judging by her purse tumbled sideways on the kidney-shaped glass coffee table and her favorite leather jacket draped over a pile of clothes at one end. To his right, a door led to a powder room, while further in the suite, past the kitchenette, were two more doors, set opposite each other on either side of a broad curtained wall that no doubt would reveal a stunning view of the Strip. One of those doors was open, revealing light spilling through blinds left open, highlighting the luxurious and still-pristine bed while the other was firmly closed, the room's inhabitant oblivious to the drama unfolding beyond its barrier.

It was toward that one Carlton unhesitatingly veered, O'Hara's alarmed, "Carlton, what's the matter? What do you mean Marlowe's not here? Will you just talk to me… _Carlton!_" trailing him as he threw open the door with enough force to cause it to crash against the wall. The bed's inhabitant immediately sat up, automatically groping for a weapon in a way with which Carlton was all-too familiar. Except she wouldn't have her weapon with her. Why would she? This was supposed to have been a fun little getaway. Just the girls. Out to raise a little hell before one of them bid her single days goodbye.

Without giving her the opportunity to gain her bearings, he crossed to the bed and grabbed her arm, hauling her resistant form from beneath sheets and comforter. Again, out of instinct, she fought—twisting, an elbow to the ribs, a kick to his shin—moves that would have been highly effective, even half-awake, if her reflexes hadn't been slowed by God only knows how much booze the night before. But since he had the upper hand, literally and figuratively, her blows did little more than glance off their intended targets.

In one swift move, he whirled her, clamping both hands on to her upper arms to still her violent thrashing, and glared down into her furious face.

"Detective—what the hell?"

"Oh, I think we can dispense with _that_ little farce now, can't we, _honey_?" he snarled, watching as confusion waged battle with fury across her expressive features. And damn him, this close—the closest he'd literally been in years—and looking into her eyes, it felt as if no time at all had passed. Especially as his body registered the inescapable fact that she still had the habit of sleeping in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, leaving her legs bare and smooth, one lodged between his thighs.

Twenty-five years ago, it had been his oversized t-shirts that she'd commandeered, claiming that even if they were just out of the dryer, they somehow smelled just like him and that comforted her. That it made her feel as if he was always with her… surrounding her. Said with a smile that had driven him to pull the shirt she'd been wearing off and surround her for real. Claim her for real.

But that had been then.

Back when Karen had been his—the first time in his life he'd ever felt as if anyone belonged just to him. That he'd belonged to anyone.

Now, however—

"Dammit, Karen, what in the hell were you thinking?"

Her eyes widened so far, a full rim of bloodshot white appeared around the deep brown. "What are you talking about?"

Behind them, O'Hara's hushed, "Oh sweet God, it was _real,_" echoed through the suddenly silent room.

In an instant, Karen's expression shifted, fury dissolving as her brows drew together with consternation, then growing awareness, followed by horror in rapid succession. Even in the dim light of the room, Carlton could see the sudden paling of her skin and this time, when she made a move to pull free, he let her go, watching helplessly as she clapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom revealed by yet another door. The whole damned suite was like a maze of doors and rooms that should never have been opened.

He put his hands to his suddenly aching head and sank to the edge of the bed—still warm and bearing Karen's scent. That hadn't changed either.

Jesus.

Marlowe had been so excited by the trip—organized by his kindhearted partner, of course—a bachelorette party in Vegas to bid farewell to her days of being single. Of being lonely. She'd never had many friends—girl or otherwise—growing up and on into her adulthood, preoccupied as she'd been with her brother's illness and the necessity of protecting him.

Now with Adrian taken care of, in a manner of speaking, she had the opportunity to live a life she'd long denied herself. That she'd felt accepted by Juliet and Karen had meant the world to her.

He'd worried, of course. He wouldn't be him if he didn't worry. Fret, even. He was a world class fretter, after all. But not one bit of that worry and fretting had been because he'd ever imagined Karen would betray their past. For crap's sake, they'd made it this long without revealing a damned thing—no one had ever guessed. Not O'Hara, with her people instincts and exceptional skills, not Spencer—either of them—with their bizarre gifts and in the case of Spencer the Younger, his relentless nosiness. Not a single soul with whom they'd been in constant contact for the past seven years had ever sniffed out so much as a hint that the Head Detective and the Chief of Police had once been not just married, but intensely, insanely, in love.

No, silly him—he'd just been worried that Marlowe have a good time. Hell, he could even admit that at its heart, it had been a selfish desire. With their wedding date fast approaching, they were due to apply for their marriage license and he knew then, he'd have to confess that he'd been married not once, but _twice_ before. Setting aside the fact that he was required by law to document his former marriages on the license application, Carlton could not—_would_ not—go into his marriage to Marlowe under a cloud of deceit.

Well, _much_ deceit.

He'd never had any intention of confessing _who_. He'd already had his speech planned—the same speech he'd used with Victoria. It was a stupid, youthful indiscretion, one that would have been annulled except they didn't qualify under any of the parameters, so they'd had to opt for a divorce. Once that had been granted, they'd gone their separate ways, determined to pretend it had never happened and with the full intent of never again crossing paths.

Of course, that last hadn't exactly gone to plan, had it? But by the time Karen had reappeared in his life, it was almost like they were two different people. He certainly wasn't the naïve, trusting idiot he'd been way back then, harboring a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe… forever was a possibility for the likes of him, and she… Well, she wasn't Karen Dunlap anymore was she? She was Karen Vick, detective, _married_, and then not long after, his boss. His married, pregnant boss.

She _definitely_ wasn't the same girl she'd been.

Although, damn him, there were times he could swear he caught a glimpse of her—every now and again, peering out from behind a honey blonde fringe of hair or appearing in a pensive flash, quickly masked by the deep brown of her eyes. But those glimpses of Karen, the girl, were few and far between and all too quickly obliterated by the sharp, no-nonsense Chief Vick, so different, it was easy for him to pretend she was an altogether separate individual.

He'd sensed the same from her. One of those things he'd been shocked to discover hadn't changed with the passage of time—the innate awareness he'd never really experienced with anyone else before or since. Attuned as he was to her, he'd sensed her palpable relief that Carlton, the adult man—the tight-assed, paranoid, perpetually angry Head Detective she was forced to deal with on a daily basis—appeared every bit as changed as she.

So he'd gone about his life, secure that the Carlton and Karen they'd been, once upon a time—those stupid, innocent kids—were long gone, never to be heard from again.

He'd built a life—one he was damned happy with—or at least, that's what he'd swear to, if asked, and God knows, he didn't admit to happy all that easily. He'd moved on from Karen and then, Victoria—not without considerable effort, especially where Karen was concerned—then Marlowe had found him and she liked him and even loved him, with all his faults, and if he didn't feel the same sort of sense of wanting and being wanted more than anything else in the world that he had once upon a time, well, that was just a natural result of the passage of time, wasn't it? He was older and wiser and understood that that sort of terrifying, all-encompassing emotion was best left to kids and suckers. Anyone with any kind of sense knew to build up walls and to be very, very careful about how far past their perimeters to venture and if he still hadn't been brave enough to leave himself completely exposed for Marlowe, it was still further than he'd gone for anyone since… well…

_Damn her_.

As he grappled with the same helpless rage that had driven him for the past six hours, a sudden shaft of light bisected the dim room. Karen stood at the entrance to the bathroom, pale and breathing hard as she clung to the doorjamb.

"Where's Marlowe?" Her voice was hoarse and pained—whether from being sick or something else, he didn't know and right now, he didn't care.

"Gone," O'Hara replied from the doorway leading into the suite. "Her bed hasn't been slept in and her things are gone."

Without looking away from Karen, Carlton said, "That's because, O'Hara, Marlowe is back in Santa Barbara, and if I had to guess, she's just about finished packing up her things and taking off for God only knows where."

Emotionless, he watched as Karen sank to the floor, tucking her knees in close to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. Trying to disappear into herself.

"Dear God, what have I done?"

"Kind of what I've been asking myself ever since Marlowe reappeared with the very interesting news that my boss had made a hell of a confession over a raspberry mojito with a twist."

Part of him—the really, _really _pissed off part—enjoyed the faint tinge of green that overtook her at the mention of the cocktail.

"What the hell prompted you to say such a thing?"

"So… it's actually _true_?" O'Hara asked, as she approached Karen holding a glass. Judging by the bubbles, probably Sprite or ginger ale. "Drink slow," she warned as she pressed the glass into Karen's trembling hand.

"Would I be here if it wasn't?" Carlton shoved a restless hand through his hair. "And you still haven't answered my question."

"Jesus, Carlton, it was a stupid bachelorette party game and we'd all been drinking too damned much." Karen's voice shook almost as much as the hand holding the glass.

As she reached out to steady the glass for Karen, Juliet said, "We were confessing youthful indiscretions—Marlowe had the two Brazilian soccer players, I mentioned my college roommate, and when it was Karen's turn, she initially said she didn't have anything to offer. Then she said that Vick wasn't her first married name. When we pushed her for more, she described the boy she'd once been in love with but never once did she utter your name."

Carlton blinked, his brain rapidly processing through the information overload of his fiancée being with two Brazilian soccer players and his partner with her college roommate before he forced his mind back to the immediate matter at hand.

"Then how in the hell did Marlowe find out?"

"We guessed," Juliet said simply. After making certain Karen had a hold of the glass, she stood and approached him. Very quietly she said, "Marlowe said if she didn't know better, she'd think Karen was describing you. Odd as it seemed. I couldn't help but agree. And that's when Karen admitted she was." She shook her head. "It all seemed like a dream—this huge joke. We all started laughing and ordered another round and I guess I thought Karen had just been yanking our chains, because seriously?" One light brown brow rose. "The two of you?"

Carlton couldn't even bring himself to be offended because if his only experience with himself and Karen was with their current incarnations, he likely would've had the same reaction.

Crossing her arms, O'Hara fixed him with a concerned gaze. "What happened?"

Shaking his head, he focused his gaze on the faint shards of light eking through the cracks in the blinds and leaving wavering patterns along the wall. Like the slow dance of plant fronds underwater.

"Five in the morning, Marlowe's shaking me awake and saying we need to talk. She wanted to know if it was true."

"How'd she even get back to Santa Barbara? She didn't drive, did she?"

Carlton shook his head. "Hired a car." He chewed at his lower lip. "Guess once the hilarity wore off she couldn't help but wonder and once she started wondering…"

"She needed to know," O'Hara finished.

"Yeah. And what was I supposed to say? Once I confirmed it was true, she went off. It was different when I married Victoria—Karen and I hadn't seen each other for years and we sure as hell weren't working together. Now, though…"

He shrugged, fresh anger flooding him at the sympathetic expression on O'Hara's face. He didn't need pity, dammit. He needed answers. And he damn well wasn't going to get those so long as his partner was still around. He was reasonably certain he still knew Karen well enough to know she'd be closing down hard and the more time passed, the more she'd be able to shore up that considerable armor to the point it would take a battering ram to make any headway.

And people thought _he_ was a proverbial sphinx about his emotions.

Carlton's gaze scanned the room, quickly spotting what he wanted. In a move he would never have considered less than twelve hours earlier, he picked up Karen's purse from where it rested on the dresser and rummaging through it, unearthed her keys. He tossed them to O'Hara who reflexively caught them, her brows rising at his audacity.

"I know Karen drove the three of you—you take her car home, I'm taking Karen."

"The hell you are."

Carlton whipped his head around to find Karen staggering to her feet, renewed fury flooding her pale features with color.

"You're in no condition to drive."

"I hardly think you have any right to make that decision," she snapped with a distinct air of Chief Vick.

He could give a rat's ass about Chief Vick. The time to be intimidated by her was long past. Crossing his arms, he faced her implacably. "All right then, how about I have the right to some answers."

Meeting his gaze directly, but still maintaining a cautious distance, Karen said, "You're absolutely right and Marlowe definitely deserves an apology from me. What I did was unthinkably insensitive and… and _wrong_. I had absolutely no right to say anything—not after all this time. When we get back, we'll get together over coffee and clear everything—"

"No."

"No?"

"Didn't you hear? Marlowe's gone. She made _that_ very clear."

To her credit, Karen looked genuinely stricken. "But... _why_?"

"That's between you and me. No offense, O'Hara," he added with a glance over his shoulder.

His partner, clearly as stricken in her own way as Karen, merely waved off his apology.

"We can wait until you feel up to being in the car, but make no mistake, Karen, you're coming back with me and we _are_ going to talk."

As her jaw dropped, he added, "Because clearly, we've got some unfinished business."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Huddled against the door, Karen stared through the window at the starkly beautiful desert landscape. The searing sun, even through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, along with the vast tracts of openness left her with a vague sense of queasiness but it was nothing compared to what she felt every time she glanced over at the dark, glowering form behind the wheel.

Yeah, she'd take her chances with the desert.

"I swear to you, Carlton—I didn't say _anything_ to Marlowe about any feelings for you." A wisp of conversation from the night before returned. More than a wisp, really. And while _she_ might consider it inconsequential, she owed it to him to be ruthlessly honest about everything. Her voice low she amended herself. "At least, not any current feelings."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means…"

_You almost sound as if you've still got some unrequited feelings going on._

_For the boy he was… maybe. You know what they say about never really forgetting your first love._

Karen hesitated, then after a deep breath, said, "All I said was any feelings I had were… for the boy you'd been. For first love. That's all."

God knows, she'd been on the receiving end of plenty of Carlton Lassiter scorn over the years—enough to be able give back as good as she got or at the very least, brush it off it without a second thought. Which was why it came as a painful shock to realize just how much his dismissive snort cut her to the core.

Bastard.

He was the one who'd left, dammit. He had no right to question how she felt.

_Had_ felt.

Had.

Pressing her lips into a painful line, she swallowed the tears that threatened and somehow, managed to restrain the sniff that was trying like hell to escape. Karen Vick didn't cry. No sir, she did not. And she certainly wouldn't cry in front of Carlton Lassiter.

Another thirty miles passed—thirty miles of beige and dusty green landscape punctuated by cacti topped with unexpectedly brilliant flowers and weathered Joshua trees, gnarled and bent like wizened old men, their branches extended like arms warning them, _slow down… slow down… think… listen_. Perhaps take a cue from the towering rock formations that littered the desert floor, boulders stacked haphazardly and looking like they could topple at any moment yet their smooth edges and contours belying the impression. Those big-ass rocks—they'd been there long before any humans had laid eyes on them and would endure long after their petty emotional squabbles had crumbled to once more become part of the desert and sky and the distant, hazy mountains.

"What do you want from me, Carlton?"

From the corner of her eye she could see his knuckles whitening as he tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. "I just want to know what you said to her, Karen. You _had_ to have said something. Not intentionally, but just.. that you said anything at all after all this time... I just can't help but wonder—could you have said something that made her… go?"

Her heart broke a little at the slight hitch in his voice just before the final word. In that hitch she heard the boy he'd been—heard a long-ago confession, whispered into the darkness of a night that had protected them from the world beyond their cocoon—how he'd never felt as if he'd belonged anywhere or with anyone… until her.

She'd held him close and promised, through the few tears that had escaped, that he'd always belong with her. Would always belong _to_ her. And she'd always be his.

And yet, _he'd_ been the one to leave.

_Attention K-Mart Shoppers, we have a Blue Light Special on irony, Aisle 4._

For a long time she'd used that to stay angry—had considered it the first of the lies. Then she'd forced herself to forget and hadn't thought of it at all.

Now, with the distance of time and in the spirit of ruthless honesty, she could admit there was no way Carlton would have lied about that. Anything else, maybe, but not his desire to belong to someone. To cherish and be cherished. To love. It was too closely protected a part of him for him to easily reveal, much less lie about.

"Carlton, I swear… I've told you everything I can recall from last night."

"Doesn't mean there isn't something you're not remembering." The Lassiter edge had returned to his voice, obliterating any trace of the boy. "Considering you had trouble recalling you'd even said a damned thing to start with."

"It's amazing how shock and puking your guts up has a way of jogging the memory."

He made some unintelligible noise in his throat but this one lacked the obvious scorn that had characterized most of his unintelligible noises so far. Lifting the bottle of lukewarm Sprite she'd been nursing for the last hour, he indicated she should take it.

"How's your stomach?"

She took a cautious sip, sighing as the liquid slid down her battered throat. "I'll live."

Maybe. Her abdomen ached as if the cast of _Riverdance_ had performed a reel across it—twice—her throat felt raw, her eyes like they'd been rolled in sand and shoved back in her skull, and she couldn't even describe what was going on in her head, but she'd be damned if she'd admit to any of that. She'd just wait for him to deposit her on her doorstep after which she could crawl into the dark and safety of her own bed and maybe not come out, like… ever.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

Twisting the cap back and forth on the bottle's neck, she spoke carefully. "Is it possible _you_ said anything?"

"No." His voice was flat and absolute.

Damned stubborn, thick-headed, Irish… _man_.

"Carlton—"

"Karen," he returned, mocking her chastising tone. "What could I have possibly said?"

"I don't know," she shot back. "I wasn't there. But let's face it, you do have a pretty well-documented history of saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time." She glanced away from the window in time to see a deep flush suffuse his fair skin. To his credit though, he didn't argue. Tough to argue with inescapable fact—even for Carlton Lassiter.

His shoulders rose and fell with a long breath. "Honest to God, Karen, I have gone over and over every single word of my conversation with Marlowe, from the moment she shook me awake to the moment she walked out, saying she'd be back later to get the rest of her things, and I cannot put my finger on a single thing I said that would have driven her to leave." The lines of his face tightened into the familiar scowl, overlaid with an unfamiliar pain.

"That's why… it has to be something you said. Otherwise, it just makes no sense."

Turning back to the window, she muttered under her breath, "And it's always easier to blame the one who isn't there."

"What?"

"Nothing." Karen replaced the soda bottle back in the cup holder and continued staring out the window, lost in thought while beside her, Carlton vibrated with a barely restrained frustration and impatience. He wanted answers and he wanted them _now_. But if there was one thing the man had learned in the past seven years of dealing with her on a day-to-day basis, it was that he wouldn't get an answer out of her until she was damned well good and ready to give one.

Damn, she really wished she didn't have to give him one. Not about this.

Finally, she pulled her gaze away from the landscape that had, over the last hour, become something of a soothing balm to her aching head—and heart. The idle thought occurred of maybe returning one day when she had time to hike among the ancient rocks and flora—to watch the sun set in dazzling shades of red and purple and orange and gold before the stars emerged to blanket a never ending expanse of night sky.

Right. As if she'd ever be able to return again.

"Look, Carlton," she began slowly, "I'll admit I… reminisced some about what we'd had. How I'd felt about—"

_I spent so many hours just draped over him doing nothing more than gazing into those eyes…_ _Thought I had my whole life in front of me to spend on those mysteries._

She swallowed hard. "About you."

And please, dear God, don't let him ask for the details.

"Why, Karen?" His voice was soft. "After how everything ended?"

Ruthless honesty, she reminded herself. Speaking to the hazy outline of the distant mountains, she very quietly said, "I loved you very much back then. Or had you forgotten?"

A long pause, pregnant with a thousand memories, elapsed before he finally said, "I would have presumed the hate would have eclipsed anything you might have felt back then."

"God knows I tried. But I couldn't quite bring myself to hate you. Intense disdain with flashes of dislike was about the best I could muster. And even that faded after a while." And it didn't escape her attention that he hadn't answered her question. Not really. Not that it mattered.

"You sure convinced me it was full-on hate."

The words escaped before she could stop them. "Maybe that was just your guilty conscience since you're the one who left, remember?"

A deathly split-second silence encompassed the car—just long enough for the tiny hairs to rise on the back of Karen's neck—before Carlton's explosive, "I _had_ to."

"What do you mean you _had_ to? You had to tell me we were too young and we weren't thinking straight? You had to tell me it was a huge mistake? You _had_ to break my heart?" Her already-raw throat burned and stung with the pain of words too long held back and the strain of the tears that threatened anew.

He looked away from the road, pinning her to her seat with a gaze that blazed blue fury. "Did you not tell your father you were afraid _we'd_ moved too fast?"

Her heart stopped. It honest-to-God stopped cold, along with her breathing and her self-righteous fury.

"Carlton, stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the goddamned car, _now_."

Without a word, he swerved sharply to the right and hit the brakes. Moments later, he was kneeling beside her, arm around her, holding her head, as she deposited the scarce contents of her stomach onto the desert floor. She heaved for what seemed like interminable minutes, her stomach contracting with such force, pain radiated up through her chest and out to her arms and legs. As the retching subsided, she spied a lizard, several feet away, regarding her curiously—through her blurred, tear-filled vision, its entire demeanor seemed to suggest she was a stupid, stupid creature.

She couldn't bring herself to disagree.

"Karen?"

At the sound of his voice—the gentlest she'd heard from him since the moment her daughter had been born—fresh tears flooded her vision turning the lizard and the surrounding landscape into an amorphous mélange of color.

"I can't right now, Carlton," she managed around the burning in her throat. Staggering to her feet, she stepped away from him and sank against the side of the car, closing her eyes against… everything. She just wished everything could disappear. The last twenty-four hours. The last twenty-five _years_. And yet… no. She couldn't wish that. Not when Iris had come to her in that time—she'd take anything her past had dealt her many times over in order to have Iris in her life.

An instant later she felt a bottle pressed into her hand. "God, no more Sprite, please." Her stomach lurched uncomfortably at the mere mention of it. She'd never much cared for the sickly sweet drink in the first place. Now? It was right up there with raspberry mojitos with a twist as a drink she'd likely never imbibe. Ever again.

"It's my water."

She nodded without opening her eyes and lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a swig that she swished around in her mouth and spit out. As she took a second sip, she opened her eyes to find Carlton unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the plain white t-shirt he wore beneath. Her breath caught as he tossed the button-down to the hood and swiftly reached behind his head to yank the t-shirt off.

She stared, feeling as if she were trapped in a time warp. While still rangy and lean, he'd filled out, giving more breadth to chest and shoulders and the hair that had once so aroused her, thick and black and so masculine compared to the boys she'd known before him was now, like the hair on his head, liberally sprinkled with silver. As she lifted her gaze to meet his—those eyes still so large and still so damned blue—she saw in them equal parts Carlton the shy boy and Lassiter the resolute man.

Her head ached and fresh tears burned in her throat.

"Thought you might want this." He offered her the shirt, while nodding at hers. Glancing down, she saw that the t-shirt she wore hadn't escaped her bout of sickness completely unscathed and since the rest of her clothes were with Juliet, Carlton having barely let her throw on a pair of jeans and shoes before he'd dragged her to his car, she had nothing else to change into.

"Thanks," she said hoarsely, but she wasn't even sure he heard since he'd already turned away, presumably to give her some privacy, and was busy pulling his button-down back on.

After glancing around to make certain no other vehicles were on the horizon, she quickly pulled off her damp, stained t-shirt and pulled his on, her heart stuttering as the still-warm folds draped over her body and fell just past mid-thigh, the smell of him wrapping itself around her. Like his body, altered, yet not altogether unfamiliar. Along with the fresh smell of detergent, she caught a faint whiff of light, woodsy aftershave she realized with a slight flash of surprise she'd recognize anywhere as his and further beneath, the earthy, still-achingly familiar essence of _him_.

"Here—" She turned to find him popping the trunk and pulling out a plastic bag. After she balled up her dirty shirt and tossed it in the bag, he tied it closed and set it in the trunk. Ducking back into its depths, he emerged a moment later holding a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash—cinnamon, she noted, recalling his allergy to mint.

"Go bag," he said with a shrug. "If you don't think it'll upset your stomach further, it might make you feel better," he said quietly, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Thanks," she repeated, seemingly incapable of more than one-syllable answers. She knew what he was doing. Other than taking care of her, that is. He was occupying himself with the mundane in order to keep from pressing for what he really wanted to know.

He wasn't alone—either in intent or desire. But now wasn't the time. Maybe that time was long past. What they both needed to concentrate on was the here and now.

Whatever mistakes and misunderstandings had occurred so many years ago, their time was long past.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**AN:** Not knowing a whole lot about Karen's background, outside of Commander Barbara, I'm making some assumptions about her family and her relationship with her parents in the name of artistic license. I hope you all will forgive me and go along for the ride.

* * *

_Son, you seem like a nice enough boy—Karen certainly speaks highly of you—and in time, you'll likely become a fine man._

_But you'd prefer if I wasn't anywhere near her life right now._

_Cut right to the chase, don't you?_

_No point beating around the bush, if we're going to resort to tired clichés._

_Karen did say you were smart as hell and a bit of a smartass. She likes that about you._

_Among other things._

_Yes, well… do you really think all those things are enough?_

_I do._

_I don't. And thing is… neither does Karen._

_Come again?_

_Not that she'd say so outright, mind you, but she did intimate the two of you might have moved too fast._

_We're both aware things happened quickly between us. It doesn't make how we feel any less valid._

_You feel that way now and that's natural, but Carlton, if she's expressing concern _now_ less than six weeks after your marriage, what's it going to be like in six months? Six years? As it is, she's already made concessions._

_How so?_

_This plan to go to the Police Academy with you after you two graduate, for example._

_As far as I know, sir, Karen's always planned on becoming a police officer._

_No, son, that may be what she told you, but what she always planned on, ever since she was a little girl, was becoming an attorney. Going into practice with me. But now she's got some idea that the two of you will be able to work together and live together and while that seems romantic now, the reality of living a life that isn't really of her own choosing—a high-pressure life at that—will soon wear on her and consequently, you and God forbid any kids you might have. Now, if you know Karen as well as you say you do, then you know how damned stubborn she is. No matter how hard things get for her, she will never admit defeat. She will stick by you and tell you she loves you and that she's happy—and she might even believe it—when the truth is inside, she'll be dying a little more every day. _

_With all due respect, Mr. Dunlap, I think you're wrong._

_Of course you do. You're in love and you don't want to believe anything that might cast a shadow on those first, perfect moments of being in love. But from what Karen tells me, you're also a realist who maintains faith in irrefutable fact. And the fact is you've only known her a few short months while I've known her for all of her nineteen years. Now you tell me, Carlton—which one of us would _you_ put your faith in?_

* * *

_You didn't _see_ her, Carlton. She's still in love with you._

_Good God, she is not. She can barely stand me._

_Carlton. Don't lie. Not to me and for heaven's sake, not to yourself._

_Okay, maybe she doesn't completely despise me, but Marlowe—she and I are completely different people. We were stupid kids. Who made a stupid mistake. We've both long since moved on._

_Maybe that's what you both believe, but have you, really?_

_Oh, come on, of course we have. We've both lived our lives since then—both got married, I got divorced, she had Iris and if she's been going through a bit of a hard time in the wake of her divorce, it doesn't mean that she's automatically fallen back on some long-forgotten feelings for me. Trust me, they weren't all that strong to start with. Certainly not enough to withstand the passage of nearly twenty-five years._

_What about you?_

_What about me?_

_If you're so certain there aren't any feelings there, then why wouldn't you have told me it was her?_

_Because it just doesn't matter!_

_And that's where you're wrong. You see her every single day. You work side-by-side with her on a daily basis. You've literally put your life in her hands._

_As Detective and _Chief_. Not as anything else._

_Oh, Carlton… I know you truly believe that but, I think you _both_ need to figure out some things. Like why she felt the need to confess a secret she'd kept for so long now, of all times and… and why _you_ had no intention of ever telling me. Because honestly, if the license application hadn't required it, would you have ever said _anything_ about it? At all?_

* * *

Two conversations, separated by nearly twenty-five years, and he could recall each of them word for word.

In neither one had he said very much, yet somehow, in both, he'd been left feeling as if he was at fault. As if he hadn't done enough. With Marlowe because he hadn't been completely forthcoming and with Karen's father…

Because he'd let all those damned fears and insecurities that were never too far from the surface grab hold and whisper that maybe Mr. Dunlap was right, despite the fact that his gut kept insisting the man was _wrong_. That what he and Karen had was real and forever. Gut instinct aside, however, he simply couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Karen would come to regret her hasty decision to marry him. That maybe she _was_ ruining a promising future with a long-planned end goal she'd never once mentioned to him. That the light that made her practically glow—that had drawn him to her and surrounded him in a warmth he'd never experienced in his life—would dim and it would be _his_ fault. And that ultimately, she'd come to hate him.

If she was going to hate him anyway—better to get it over with, right?

* * *

_What do you mean you think we made a mistake?_

_We both know we moved too fast, Karen._

_We moved _fast_, period. There's no "too" about it. We knew what we wanted and we did something about it. _

_Yeah, well… what we think we want now isn't necessarily what we really want. Or what we're going to want in the future. I know it's hard for either of us to admit to being wrong, but let's face it, this was a mistake._

_How can you say that? God, Carlton, you're making no sense!_

_Maybe not. But eventually, you'll see I'm right. Bye, Karen._

_Carlton…no—don't go… We can figure this out. _Please_, Carlton—don't…_

* * *

Carlton could still hear her voice; could see her, wrapped in one of his t-shirts and huddled on their battered, ugly, Salvation Army couch, knees tucked up under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs—trying to disappear into herself as she'd stared at him with huge, wounded brown eyes.

Her heart hadn't been the only one broken that day. But he'd already convinced himself she'd get over it. Especially leaving in the manner he had—guaranteed to infuriate her with his lack of answers and leave her hating him. And it had worked, he thought. By the next time he saw her, the day their divorce had been granted, she'd stared through him, stony-faced.

And he'd been the one to die a little inside.

But she hadn't hated him. At least, not if she was to be believed and God, but his gut was screaming at him to _listen_ to her this time.

He glanced over at her as he turned the corner onto her street, leaning against the car door and feigning sleep. He knew it was feigned because her breathing wasn't quite steady enough for full sleep nor was her body relaxed enough. But he'd left her alone, his own mind occupied with reliving over and over the moment when he'd exploded, hurling the accusation he'd restrained for so long, and the utter shock that had widened her eyes and revealed once more, the wounded girl.

That shock—it had been real. Carlton knew damned well that under normal circumstances, Chief Vick was a master at masking her emotions—how she parsed them out privately before offering a measured, thought-out response. But her expression, as twenty-five years of dormant resentment had burst free, had been pure Karen—the girl he'd hurt because he'd loved her so damned much.

Carlton pulled into her driveway wondering, what the hell now? He knew, via a text from O'Hara, that Karen's car was still a couple of hours away from being returned to her. He could only pray she had a spare key. Otherwise, it would be a mighty awkward couple of hours. Although how it could possibly get any _more_ awkward—

"I can disarm the lock from my phone."

A moment later, she was gone, attempting to make an escape without any further interaction.

Oh, wait a minute now… dreading a couple of awkward hours was one thing, but if she thought she was just going to make a clean getaway without saying _anything_, she had another thing coming.

He caught up with her at the front door where she was swearing under her breath as she stabbed at her phone's screen, her trembling fingers clearly making it a more difficult task than usual. Suppressing a sigh—damned stubborn woman—he took the phone from her loose grasp, raising an eyebrow as she hit him with what she thought was a foolproof Chief Vick glare.

Not anymore. Carlton knew that glare would never again have the same impact on him again—because he'd never be able to meet Chief Vick's gaze without seeing Karen peering out at him from behind the deep brown like a curious girl peeking around heavy velvet theatre curtains.

"Karen, what's the damned code?"

Annoyance thinning her full lips into a straight line, she finally said, "Eight-two-five-four-six-three-five."

Something about the numbers tickled at the edges of his brain, but he dismissed it as unimportant as he keyed them in, shaking his head in wonder as he heard the click of the lock.

"I'm telling you, flying cars can't be far behind," he muttered, feeling a pleased flush overtaking him at the faint smile gracing Karen's features. So she remembered, too.

"I just want a Rosie to help with the housework."

Saturday mornings, cuddled in bed, sharing a bowl of generic Cap'n Crunch because that's what they could afford, and watching reruns of _Jetsons_ and _Flintstones _and _Looney Tunes_ on their surprisingly nice TV, since it was one Karen had absconded with from her childhood bedroom. They'd laugh and make plans—so many plans—and wonder if they really would live to see flying cars and robot maids.

"Sorry—a Roomba's the best I can do."

Another smile, as she pushed open the door, was his reward although this one seemed tempered with… something. A host of emotions flashed across her expressive features in rapid succession, some of which he recognized, others, there and gone too quickly for him to identify. Finally, she took a deep breath, her face settling into lines he knew _very_ well—she'd come to some sort of decision.

"What I told my father," she said very softly, "was that I knew we'd moved fast, but that I was absolutely certain marrying you was the right thing—the _best_ thing—I could do. That the only other thing I'd ever been so certain of was my desire to become a cop."

She kept her gaze fixed on his face, clearly searching. Obviously seeing in him whatever she'd expected, she nodded and added, "He was a lawyer, Carlton—a damned good one. An expert at manipulating information, prudent and extremely selective with his words, and a master at reading people. He hit you right where you were most vulnerable, didn't he? Made you doubt."

Carlton scrubbed a hand over his face, twenty-five years of misplaced anger draining away, replaced by fresh anger that he'd been so blatantly played. And tired. So damned tired of being Fate's buttmonkey.

Although really, he couldn't place the blame on her, could he? Nope. This one was all on him.

"One word," he said, his voice hoarse. "One stupid word was all it took to get me to topple like a house of cards." Wearily, he rubbed the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes, terrified to meet her gaze. "I… should have talked to you," he admitted slowly, every word feeling as if it was being dragged from his gut. "When you asked. But he just sounded so damned reasonable."

And it was no damned excuse. In the moment when he most should have been a man, he'd been a terrified little boy and let down the person he claimed to love more than any other.

"Of course he did. It was his secret weapon."

The lack of censure… the utter gentleness of her voice, had him cautiously lifting his head to meet her gaze. No… no anger either, and if there was anything he knew after working closely with her for seven years, was what an angry Karen looked like. Perhaps most remarkably, there was no pity to be found anywhere in the deep brown—nothing that seemed to suggest he was the dumbest man to ever walk the planet and it was a miracle his knuckles weren't dragging and he was in possession of opposable thumbs.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

Now, it was she who looked away, down to her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. "If you had a go bag in your trunk, why did you give me the shirt you were wearing?"

Her direct question caught him by surprise, leaving him stuttering, "I… I—"

While his brain wrestled with what should have been a simple question, Karen stepped forward, not touching, but so close, her warmth surrounded him as if she had been.

"Why, Carlton?"

He had no idea.

Did he?

He recalled how she'd looked as she stared at him—studied him in a way she'd not had reason to for so many years. What had she seen? What had _he_ been looking for in that searching brown gaze?

"It… seemed natural."

Her breath came in rapid, shallow gusts that bathed his skin and caused goosebumps to ripple along his arms. Each breath drew her closer, her breasts brushing his chest in feather-light caresses he felt everywhere.

For long, endless moments, she did nothing more than stare, eyes huge and dark in her pale, beautiful face. The face that had tormented him in dreams for too long and when he'd finally conquered _those_ demons, had appeared to haunt his waking hours.

"I should apologize for this, but you know, after twenty-five years, I think we're entitled."

Rising on tiptoe, she fit her mouth to his as smoothly as if they'd been doing this every day for the past twenty-five years. As her tongue stroked his, cinnamon hot and smooth, his rapidly short-circuiting brain registered the unmistakable thought that yes, they _should _ have been doing this for the past twenty-five years. There wasn't a day that should have gone by where they _didn't _do this. Renewed anger at all those years stolen had him pulling her hard against him, one hand sliding into her hair to hold her head steady as he ravaged her mouth, exploring with lips and teeth and tongue. Groaning as she arched into his embrace, meeting him kiss for kiss, both hands buried in his hair, pulling herself up as if she wanted to melt into him.

Just like before—when she'd whisper that she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself around him, crawl into him until they were so closely woven together, they'd be like one person.

Just as his hand crept beneath the hem of her shirt, however, she pulled away, eyes wide and dilated with passion.

God, _just_ like before

As he reached for her once more, she threw a hand out, stopping him.

"No—"

Trembling fingers rested against her swollen lips. Lips he'd done that to, dammit. "A kiss is one thing, Carlton, but you can't—" She stood before him, soft and flushed, the outline of her nipples clear beneath the thin material of _his_ shirt, and exuding a desire that felt both familiar and new, and left him aching in ways he hadn't for, hell… _years_, and delivered the death blow.

"We can't do this. _I_ can't. I've already done enough damage." The hand she'd thrown between them rose to cup his cheek. "I'm so sorry, baby."

_Baby_.

He blinked, memory slamming into him with the intensity of a gale-force wind. That endearment used during those long ago days—the sort of thing that until she'd first said it, late one night, holding him close, he'd thought a ridiculous affectation. _Baby_, indeed. He hadn't been anyone's baby, even when he _had_ been an actual baby.

After that first time, though, he couldn't get enough of it, delivered in the soft, throaty voice so unlike her clear, direct everyday speaking voice. A voice she seemed to reserve just for him.

No one else had ever called him that until—

Dear _God_, Marlowe.

Horrified, he realized he hadn't thought of her—the woman he'd claimed to love, the woman he'd expected to be marrying within weeks—except in the most fleeting of ways, for hours. Instead it was the woman in front of him, brown eyes filled with pain and a lifetime's worth of regrets, who'd been consuming his every thought.

And that's when he _knew._ Marlowe had been right.

He never would have told her about Karen. There's no way he could have without revealing what she'd meant to him.

What she meant to him still.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**AN:**More supposition about Karen's background and where she's from in the interests of artistic license. Carry on.

* * *

Exhausted, Karen stared sightlessly out her bedroom window as she idly drew a comb through her damp hair. The motion should have been soothing but truth was, nothing short of knocking her unconscious—preferably with great force—would serve to soothe her turbulent mind and heart.

_Oh, Dad… why? _

Except she knew why. Karen knew her father and now that she was a parent herself, she understood on a deeper level what his intent must have been. Horribly wrong and fatally misguided, but she got it. She could only pray to remember what this experience had been like—what it had cost—when it was Iris' turn.

She caught sight of her grim smile in the window's reflection. How utterly pissed off must he have been when he realized she still had every intention of becoming a cop. If she couldn't have Carlton, then she was going to have her career. She wasn't going to just become a cop, by God—she was going to become a _great_ cop.

The irony that her drive and ambition had landed her in a position where she _did_ have Carlton, in a manner of speaking, had not escaped her, although by the time it happened, she'd convinced herself he didn't matter any more or less than any of her other charges.

The Universe sure had a way of disabusing one of silly notions, didn't it?

The unmistakable sound of a car pulling into her driveway snapped her from her rambling musings. Despite the momentary flutter of anticipation deep in her chest, she knew it wouldn't be Carlton. The moment Marlowe had reentered his consciousness, he'd lit out like a bat out of hell. Good thing she'd stopped things when she had—he would never have been able to forgive himself had he given into temptation. The lure of the fantasy had been powerful, no doubt about it—the feeling that no time had passed and they were still those giddy, lovelorn kids—the passion and desire as potent and strong as ever, except now it was overlaid with the patina of years and experience. Her heart raced and a light sheen of sweat filmed her skin almost immediately despite the relative coolness of the room as she recalled the sheer ferocious hunger exposed by that single kiss.

They'd been very, very good together, once upon a time.

They'd be spectacular, now.

And it would be the worst possible thing either of them could do. She knew it and he knew it, which was why he'd backed away, his gaze holding hers until the last possible moment. Then he'd turned and driven away and she'd shut the door, climbed the stairs to her room, run the hottest shower possible, and cried in a way she hadn't since she was nineteen.

Dear God, the look in his eyes as he'd backed away… A perfect twin to the look in his eyes that day so long ago. Haunted and angry and deep blue with pain. She just hadn't been able to recognize the emotions through the turbulence of her own hurt and bewilderment and anger.

She had to hand it to her father—he'd combined their collective youth and inexperience with Carlton's deep-seated insecurities and played them against each other with the deftness and expertise of a master.

As the doorbell's chimes echoed through the house, she tossed her comb to the dresser and descended the stairs. Opening the door, she wasn't at all surprised to find Juliet on the opposite side—she wasn't even all that surprised to see her holding a large paper bag from which wafted the unmistakable aromas of Chinese food. What _did_ come as a surprise was how readily she opened the door wider and allowed the younger woman to pass through after she held up the bag with a wry, "I would have brought wine but I figured won ton soup was maybe the safer choice."

Another surprise was how, once inside and settled in the kitchen, serving themselves from the various cartons, Juliet didn't press for conversation.

Well then.

"I suppose you're curious."

Juliet paused with a spoon halfway to her mouth. "Actually…" She shrugged. "I gathered enough from what I observed—at least the most pertinent information."

Karen nudged a dumpling through the broth with the edge of the spoon. "And yet it doesn't even begin to tell the entirety of the story."

"But it's your story to tell, Karen. Yours and Carlton's. I wouldn't push." Juliet's hand briefly lit on the back of hers. "But I will listen. And I won't judge."

"I don't know how you couldn't help but judge," she said miserably into her bowl. "I know I do."

Judgmental or not, however, the temptation to tell _someone—_especially someone who knew them both—was too strong.

Slowly, Karen shared how during the fall of their sophomore year at UC Santa Barbara, two ambitious kids had been thrown together as project partners in an Intro to Criminal Justice class. How, while he initially seemed prickly and aggravated at being paired with, well… _anyone_, he'd soon realized her drive and focus more than matched his. For her part, she quickly recognized the prickly arrogance as a front he used to effectively keep people at a distance in an effort to mask an intense shyness and fear of doing the wrong thing. Once she'd cracked that defense, however—had convinced him she had no intention of making fun of him unless, of course, he absolutely deserved it—she'd found in that shy boy a partner whose ambition was not only equal to hers, but who wasn't threatened or put off by a woman who aspired to play on the same field as the boys as an equal. If anything, it seemed to fascinate and arouse him—much in the way his easy acceptance of her ambition did her. The blue eyes hadn't hurt, either.

"We were like a pair of magnets—perfectly matched in power and attraction," she recalled, their younger selves appearing in her mind's eye like players on a movie screen. "Once we were put within proximity of each other we were irrevocably drawn together and there was no pulling us apart."

Rather than look horrified or disbelieving to hear her reserved boss describing a relationship with her equally reserved partner in such terms, Juliet looked thoughtful. "I can see that," she finally said. "You two have always struck me as so similar—I always assumed that was the source of your friction, honestly." She smiled. "You're each convinced you know best and you're both always so damned sure you're right."

Karen felt a nostalgic smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "That hasn't changed."

Oh, how they'd argued. And oh, how they'd made up.

By the time Christmas break had rolled around, they'd been inseparable, but had found themselves nevertheless apart as she returned to San Diego while he remained at home in Santa Barbara.

"Those two hundred miles might as well have been two thousand. No cell phones, he couldn't afford long distance charges and while I could have called him every night, I knew he'd hate feeling as if he couldn't carry equal weight in the relationship." Her heart constricted as she recalled, "So he sent me letters—even if they were only a few lines—every day."

Juliet blinked, clearly somewhat boggled by the image of her hard-edged partner as a lovestruck teenager, bent over a sheet of paper, pouring out his heart. "What did your parents think?"

Karen shrugged as she stood to put away leftovers. "Not much, really. They'd expected I'd date and have a social life, of course. I think they were a little thrown that I was in a steady relationship, but on the other hand, it beat the alternative of imagining I was sleeping around with abandon. So long as I didn't let it interfere with my grades they pretty much stayed out it. I think they probably just figured Carlton for a typical college romance. Kind of over the top, stars-in-the-eyes puppy love, but nothing more."

Juliet carried their dishes to the sink and began rinsing and stacking them in the dishwasher. "You didn't tell them how serious you were?"

"Oh, God no." Last carton put away, Karen leaned against the counter. "I was afraid to burst that bubble, you know? I was perfectly content to keep the outside world at bay."

Juliet laughed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, I can relate."

Spencer. Of course. Making Carlton's reaction to his discovery of Juliet and Shawn's relationship more than a little ironic although she doubted he'd see it as such.

"I imagine you can. So you can understand how little I wanted to deal with the inevitable questions and doubts and accusations that I was ruining my future."

Even if she'd been absolutely certain she'd found her future.

Aching and missing Carlton so badly she could barely eat or sleep, she'd finally called him a few days after Christmas and told him she was coming back. Telling her parents she was returning early in order to hang out with friends and ring the New Year in with them, she hightailed it back to Santa Barbara where she discovered Carlton had taken some of his hard-earned savings and rented a motel room for them.

And on New Year's Eve, he'd proposed.

Two days later, they were married.

They'd rented a crappy apartment, bought third and fourth-hand furniture, and planned and dreamed and made love. As impetuous and mired in romance as they'd been, they nevertheless approached their future plans with the hardheaded pragmatism they both possessed in spades. They were already both attending school on scholarship—she made plans to get a job to supplement the income from the job he already worked—they even set aside a fund for a planned once-a-month splurge, and for six weeks had been blissfully, stupidly happy. They might have had more time if Carlton's damnable sense of honor hadn't reared its head.

It was one thing for him not to tell his mother—she was busy with her own life and the discovery of a previously unrealized sexual orientation, not to mention, this was the same woman who'd had a habit of dropping her son off for entire weekends at a Wild West reenactment park. In all likelihood, they could probably hold off telling her about their marriage until they had their first child—maybe even their second—with no ill-effects. But Karen actually had a good relationship with her parents. The last thing Carlton, child of a broken marriage and perpetually angry mother, wanted was for secrets to drive a wedge between them.

Karen—still resistant to the thought of the outside world intruding in the world she and Carlton had created—had objected. Had wanted to wait. But when Carlton had hesitantly voiced his concern that perhaps Karen was resistant because maybe… she was embarrassed by him, she had instantly caved. The last thing she was, was embarrassed by Carlton. It would be like being embarrassed by a part of herself.

"I knew my parents weren't likely to react well," she mused over coffee. "Not because of Carlton, but because it wasn't the future they'd envisioned for me. Then again, nothing of the future I'd envisioned for myself was like the future they'd envisioned for me."

"How so?" Juliet asked as she stirred cream and sugar into her coffee and settled back into the corner of the sofa they'd moved to after finishing in the kitchen.

"My becoming an attorney was always Dad's dream—not mine. No matter how insistent I was that no, I wanted to become a cop, all he ever heard was his own ambition for me. And as I only just learned today, he apparently used the power of that dream as well as a few well-misdirected words to scare Carlton right off." Karen stared down into her mug, studying the swirls of creamy white blending into the ink dark of the coffee. "And Dad almost got his dream in the end."

Karen lifted her head to find Juliet staring at her, gaze steady and sympathetic. She wouldn't press. She wouldn't judge.

"I was pregnant when he left."

"Oh, _Karen_," Juliet breathed, but Karen shook her head.

"I didn't know it at the time. We'd been careful… mostly." She lifted a shoulder, recalling the times they hadn't been. Crazed with lust and desire and unable to stop—not even for a second—and besides, they were _together_. It was okay. They'd be okay.

The hubris of youth.

"By the time I figured it out, he'd left, I'd transferred to UC San Diego, and I was so mad and hurt, I wasn't about to tell him. Wasn't about to use it as some sort of lure to draw him back out of obligation."

Because he would have come running back, oh yes, he would, bound by honor and an unshakable need to do the right thing. But she was proud, too, and if he didn't want Karen for herself, then she sure didn't want him back just because of their baby.

The damnable hubris of youth.

"But I held the thought of that baby close—if _I_ couldn't have Carlton, I at least had part of him. And then, I didn't. I woke up one morning and it was over. Just like that."

She meditatively rubbed her thumb along the warm, smooth edge of the mug's rim. "Ironically, it's the one thing that would have pushed me into law school and a partnership with my father. Would've been a safer career."

"You never told him, did you?"

Karen lifted her head to meet Juliet's knowing gaze and shook her head. "I've never told a single living soul until now."

"God," Juliet sighed, eyes dark blue with a damp sheen. "Poor you. Poor Carlton."

Karen felt a corresponding prickling at the backs of her eyes, yet felt the unmistakable relief of sharing a burden too long carried alone. She knew Juliet, now knowing the depths of Karen and Carlton's shared past and what had torn them apart, would understand why she hadn't told him then, and as his closest friend now, would understand why Karen wouldn't _ever_ be able to tell him.

She could still see him, moments after Iris' birth, holding her with that dazed look of wonder turning his eyes a brilliant pale blue and confessing one reason his marriage to Victoria had failed was her assumption he didn't want kids. Trapped in a stupor caused by the aftermath of intense pain and the euphoria of having actually produced the tiny, living being he currently held, not to mention the surreal experience of having _Carlton_ in the delivery room with her and not her husband, she'd shrugged it off. In a pretty cruel, dismissive way, really. Later, however, lying in her dark room while she'd cradled Iris's warm body close and nursed her, she'd experienced a deep pang, realizing the extent to which Carlton had erected walls around his heart. Just how closed off he had to have become, such that he'd been unable to reveal such a fundamental desire to his _wife_.

A desire he'd so readily shared—again—with _her_, in those heady moments following Iris' birth.

To learn she'd been pregnant with his child and had lost it in the wake of their breakup? The man was Irish and Catholic. The levels of guilt and self-recrimination would be immense and probably unsafe for the public at large.

Karen shook her head slowly, the memories and emotions tumbling through her mind, one after the other, like pebbles into a stream. "You know, in retrospect it might have been easier if I'd just fooled around with my roommate. She really was a rather lovely girl."

After a charged, startled moment, Juliet laughed, her infectious giggles drawing the same from Karen until the two of them sagged against the sofa cushions, laughing hysterically. At some point, the laughter evolved into tears, Karen sobbing helplessly against Juliet's shoulder, overwhelmed once more with a pain she hadn't allowed herself to feel for years. A tiny voice in the back of her mind tried to get her to stop—she was the Chief for God's sake, this was her employee—she needed to keep that divide, keep that respect, keep the image of the Chief as infallible.

The tiny voice could suck it.

She was also a woman who was hurting badly and she needed a friend. Unlikely as it seemed, Juliet O'Hara appeared willing to be that friend.

The sobs finally subsiding, she sat up, wiping at her heated face with the hem of her t-shirt. Not Carlton's. That one she'd saved for later. When she'd try to sleep. Stupid and masochistic as hell, perhaps, but right now, she needed to hang on to what little of him she had. "God, what a mess."

Juliet dug through her purse and unearthed a package of tissues. "How's Carlton?"

Karen accepted the tissues, wiping her swollen eyes and blowing her nose. "Angry at me. Angry at my dad. Guilty he didn't say anything to me twenty-five years ago. Guilty that he didn't say anything to Marlowe. _Really_ angry at himself."

Passionate. Hungry. And so damned desirable it had taken every ounce of fortitude she possessed to not beg him to stay.

"Typical Carlton, in other words."

"Yeah," she said softly, shredding the tissue into tiny, confetti-like bits that fell to her feet like rice tossed in celebration.

"Is there anything at all that I can do?"

Karen lifted her head and smiled at Juliet who, really, had been remarkable. Especially considering her first allegiance honestly should have been to Carlton, that she'd stuck by her today had been nothing short of miraculous. Maybe the Universe wasn't all bad—sending Juliet to be her ally—because now Karen knew what she needed to do.

"You've already gone far beyond anything I had any right to expect."

"Dammit, Karen, would you cut yourself some slack? It was a _mistake_—" Juliet exclaimed, her expression intent. "A hell of one, admittedly, but let's be honest—it's a mistake that was compounded by Carlton's own silence on the subject. If he'd just been honest with Marlowe from the beginning—"

Karen held up her hand, stopping the indignant barrage of words. "Maybe so, but it doesn't absolve me of being in the wrong here. I was _wrong_, Juliet—it was an inappropriate thing to say at a wildly inappropriate moment." A shuddering breath escaped. "And I wound up hurting two people who absolutely did not deserve to be hurt."

Juliet remained silent while Karen released a quiet sigh knowing she'd successfully made her point. She didn't need to drive a wedge between this partnership either. She also desperately needed Juliet to remain Carlton's ally.

At the door, she hugged the younger woman, waving off her assurances that she would check on her the next day.

"Really, Juliet, it's okay. But there is one thing I will need you to do."

She cocked her head. "Of course—anything."

Karen bit her lip, fighting to break free from years' worth of distance and reserve. "Take care of Carlton, okay? Whatever happens, he's going to need a friend now, more than ever."

Juliet's brows drew together. "Karen, come on—you work together—the two of you are going to have to talk at some point."

"Maybe. But it can't be right now. Which is why I need you to take care of him. You know he'll never ask or show that he needs help."

Juliet looked as if she wanted to keep arguing—to insist that they _had_ to talk and clear the air. Karen suspected if she could have grabbed Carlton by the ear and yanked him over Right Now and locked them in a room until they cleared the air, she would have. But Karen knew damned well clearing the air was the _last_ thing that would happen if they were locked in a room together and would, in fact, just muddy the situation further.

Nope. She'd done quite enough, thanks.

After a final hug, Karen closed and locked the door behind Juliet and returned to the sofa. Picking up her phone, she contemplated it for several long moments before finally turning it on and pressing a key. The line rang three times before it was picked up at the tail end of the third ring, just as she'd known it would be.

"Hi—Mom? We need to talk. No, no… everything's okay—Iris is fine. She's with her dad this weekend. No, this is about Daddy. And... Carlton."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**AN: **Sorry for the interruption in service folks. I'd really been hoping to keep to a chapter a day update, but then Loafer gave me permission to take Sunday off and then Monday hated me. Hopefully, we are now back on track and that this chapter is worth the wait.

* * *

_If… if I'd been honest with you from the beginning, Marlowe—if I'd told you about Karen and who she'd once been to me—would you have been okay with it?_

_I'd like to think I would have been, but honestly? I'm not sure. I know I would have tried. But the more I think about it, the more I suspect I would have just become more aware of her. More aware of the two of you together. _

_You wouldn't have trusted me._

_Oh, Carlton—it's not about trust. It's just obvious that no matter how hard both of you tried, the people you were back then never completely went away—which is perfectly natural. After all, the people we've been in the past inform who we are now. But with the two of you working together—seeing each other every day… There's _always_ going to be something between the two of you. I just think you need to figure out what that is, once and for all. And we both know I'm not part of it._

_I… yeah. I know. I'm so sorry, Marlowe—you didn't deserve any of this. _

_No, I didn't._

_You sound so freaking calm and reasonable. What aren't you throwing things and threatening to cut off my manhood?_

_Oh, trust me—I'm plenty angry. I'm furious and hurt and feel like the world's biggest fool. But I've spent a lifetime setting aside my own emotions. I know how to deal. But—and please don't take this the wrong way—after today, I kinda don't want to see you again for a really long time. Maybe ever._

_God, Marlowe—I never meant to—_

_Of course you didn't. That's not who you are, Carlton._

_And yet I seem to have made a career of hurting people I care about._

* * *

Carlton probably should have felt worse about the end of his relationship with Marlowe. Without a doubt he felt terrible about _how_ it had ended, but the end of the relationship itself?

It probably said something genuinely negative about his character—not that this would be a first or anything—that what he felt, deep down past the guilt, was a sense of relief.

Had his past with Karen never been revealed, he was reasonably certain he would have gone on to have a happy life with Marlowe. Happy enough, at least. He might not think a cranky jackwagon such as himself deserved any more than "happy enough," but that really wasn't the point, was it? No, the point was, that single kiss shared with Karen had shown him that a world beyond "happy enough" was _right there_—within reach—regardless of whether he thought he deserved it or not. Maybe more importantly, it had shown him that "happy enough" not only _wasn't_ enough—it wasn't fair. Not to Marlowe and not to himself.

If she hadn't ended it, he would have had no choice but to do it himself, because with Karen's sudden reemergence from the cocoon of Chief Vick… and that kiss… and oh, dear _God_.

It had been like throwing open the windows after a storm—a brilliant wash of light that illuminated colors and sharpened definition and left the air fresh and light and bracing. That left him feeling _alive_.

Carlton had forgotten what it was like to feel that way. And even if he'd remembered, he wouldn't have ever thought it possible again. Too much time past. Too many experiences rendering him cynical and jaded about the possibility of ever again experiencing that sort of dazzling, heady emotion.

Admittedly, he'd received a taste of it with Marlowe—enough to have struck a chord of wistful familiarity powerful enough to have him reaching out to hang on to it for dear life. When compared to the one who'd set the standard, however…

Really, he should be furious with Karen. Ruining him for other women the way she had.

What he was, however, was worried.

He glanced at her dark office—again—and resisted the temptation to reach for his phone—again. There were any number of reasons she might not be in yet on a Monday morning. An appointment. Meetings at City Hall. A court appearance, even. Except…

Generally if she was going to be absent, she sent an email to any personnel she deemed pertinent, keeping them apprised of her schedule as needed. As her Head Detective, he was _always_ included in those emails.

He checked his inbox—again.

Nothing.

Maybe Iris was sick. Maybe _she_ was sick.

That tight feeling in his chest increased and his fingers practically itched with the desire to reach for his phone. Or hell, just his keys.

For as much as he'd been dreading coming into work this morning—dead terrified of facing her and not knowing exactly who he'd find—would it be Chief Vick? Would it be Karen? Would she simply ignore him? Would she call him into her office and read him the riot act for running out on her—_again_? Would she exert her influence and fire him on the grounds that he was a complete asshat and always would be and tell him to get the hell as far away from her as possible?

Would she somehow miraculously grant him the second chance he so desperately needed but that God knew, he probably didn't deserve?

He just didn't know.

The one thing Carlton had never once considered, however, was that he'd come in to the station and she wouldn't _be_ there. And once again his gut piped up, insisting she had no meetings or appointments and Iris wasn't sick and neither was she. At least, not physically.

_Dammit, Karen, where the hell are you? Are you okay? Come on, sweetheart, I _need_ to know you're okay._

And again, his gut made with the insidious whispers that no, she wasn't okay and well did he know it. Moreover, what was he going to do about it? Asshat.

With a muttered curse, he grabbed his mug and headed toward the coffee bar. At the last possible moment, however, he veered toward her office, coming to a halt just inside the entrance. Closing his eyes, he breathed, feeling his heart rate steady at the feeling of being surrounded by her. Even if it was in the most fragile, ethereal of ways, it was something. It was in this room they'd spent more time together than any other. Where their lives had so unexpectedly collided, becoming intertwined in ways he understood would be damn near impossible to unravel. If he even wanted to.

He stepped more fully into the room, crossing to the window behind her desk and assuming the pose he'd so often seen her take, angled just so and gazing out through the blinds. From here, he was able to take in a broad expanse of blue sky framed by the gently waving fronds of the regal palms that ringed the building. He breathed deep again, capturing a faint whiff of her perfume and feeling her more fully enveloping him in this spot even as something… off niggled at a corner of his mind. Something not quite right.

Probably the fact that he was in her office. Where he had no business being unless he'd been summoned or was working in her stead. Which he wasn't because she was supposed to be here, dammit. With an impatient sigh, he started to turn away, then paused as his attention was captured by an unexpected flash. Turning back toward the window, he once again assumed the position in which he'd so often seen her. Shifting the angle of the blinds to compensate for the differences in their heights, he stared, not at the scene outside, but at the window's reflection. Slightly fractured by the presence of the blinds, but by and large, a clear line of sight to…

His desk.

"God, Karen, did you even realize?" he said softly. Somehow, he suspected she didn't. Any more than he had realized, until this moment, just how often throughout the course of the day he'd glance up from his desk to catch sight of her, bent over paperwork or talking on her phone. He could always tell when she was talking to Iris—the expression in her eyes visibly softer, even from a distance, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. And whenever she'd hang up from speaking to her daughter, she'd sigh then look out over the bullpen and square her shoulders as if girding herself for a return to battle.

"Carlton?"

He turned to find O'Hara standing before Karen's desk.

"Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to be in here. I was just, uh…"

His voice drifted off as he met her gaze. Hell, he didn't really have to hide from his partner. Much as he might have wanted to, but for better or worse, she was part of this now.

As expected, first thing this morning she'd asked if he was okay and had hit him with an arched-brow gaze at the terse "fine," he'd fired off in response. He'd braced himself for the cajoling and bullying that was certain to follow—the assertions that he'd feel better if he just talked about it, Carlton—and had been left shocked and more than a little tense when all she'd done was nod and hand him his coffee before burying herself in paperwork.

"Yeah," he finished lamely and turned to look out the window again.

"I assume you've seen the email, then?"

He snapped his head around.

"Ohhh-kay, then. I take it you haven't."

"_What_ email, O'Hara?"

After a pause that couldn't have been more than a second or two, but that felt like an eternity, she quietly said, "Karen's taken a leave of absence."

His gaze immediately lowered to the credenza. The framed photos of Iris were missing. A quick glance at the desk revealed gaps where more personal effects usually resided, including that stupid glass fish.

He flashed back to the moment he'd first stepped through the doorway—so desperate to feel some connection to her, he hadn't even noticed the door standing ajar, which should have been his first clue. If she hadn't arrived, the door was always closed.

She'd been there at some point—either yesterday or early today before anyone arrived—to clear her things out.

Without a word, he left the office and returned to his desk where he pulled up his email. There it was—high priority message from the mayor's office. Not even from her, dammit. She couldn't even be bothered—

"You're in charge," O'Hara said softly from behind him.

"I don't _want_ to be in charge," he snapped. At O'Hara, at the screen, at the mayoral lackey who'd composed the dry missive that didn't tell him _anything_—at the mayor who'd lent his virtual signature to the stupid thing without demanding an explanation. At Karen, his brave Karen who faced everything with a steady resolve and who'd allowed some peon to speak for her.

"Come on."

"O'Hara, I don't want—" He tried to shrug her hand off but it clamped down harder. "_Ow_."

"Shut up, Carlton." She unceremoniously yanked him from his chair, barely giving him enough opportunity to grab his suit jacket and the keys that she promptly plucked from his hand.

"Hey—"

"I said, shut up."

She steered him out the door and into the Crown Vic without another word. In fact, once settled at a table outside one of their favorite beachside coffee shops, it was him who offered the first conversational gambit.

"You spoke to her, didn't you?"

She studied him as she blew on her coffee. "If you mean did I know about her taking a leave of absence, I found out just before I told you about it."

His brows drew together at her oblique response. "I expect obtuse answers from your nimrod boyfriend, O'Hara. Not you."

Turning to stare out across the water, she meditatively sipped her coffee. The _hell_? She was the one who'd dragged him from the bullpen and now she was going all silent treatment on him and making him feel as if he was in the wrong? He honestly did not understand women.

He wondered if it was too late to become a monk.

Stare still fixed on the water, she finally asked, "What's the situation with you and Marlowe?"

"Over."

She nodded and continued sipping her coffee.

"O'Hara, if there's nothing else—"

She glanced up at him. "Sit _down_."

Carlton was a seasoned, hardened veteran officer who'd faced death more than once. Who'd dealt with Spencer on a daily basis for seven years. Neither of those could hold a candle to Juliet O'Hara on the warpath.

He sat.

"I saw her Saturday night. Brought her dinner."

When he could breathe again, he asked, "How… was she?"

The look Juliet leveled his way should have, by all rights, reduced him to a little puddle of bubbling oil. Still, her voice was surprisingly mild as she responded, "Not a whole lot better than you by the looks of it." The expression on her face as she continued to study him seemed to suggest she was weighing what to say next.

Carlton held still under her scrutiny, fighting not to squirm, much in the way he had as a kid in Mother Superior's office. With no small effort, he kept his hands relaxed, one curved around his cardboard cup, resisting the impulse to shove them under his thighs in order keep them safely out of the ruler's range.

"Why did you ask Karen to marry you?"

_Not_ what he'd expected.

And for him, not in the habit of revealing his innermost emotions, a deeply uncomfortable question for him to answer, even though the answer was real and immediate.

Taking his turn at staring out over the water, he focused on a distant sailboat. "Because I loved her."

She remained quiet for so long, he hoped that would be the extent of it, although instinct and experience both suggested she hadn't even gotten started with him.

"It was more than that, though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

Luckily, she didn't seem to require more from him, which left him breathing easier, because how the hell could he even begin to put everything that had driven him to ask Karen to marry him into mere words? To try to explain how she was his other half—his better half? That not only was she an integral piece of his heart, that until her, he hadn't even known he had one? That being apart from her, even for a few days, had left him feeling as if he couldn't breathe.

That without Karen, he was just faking it, but with her beside him there wasn't anything he couldn't do.

"I've never felt that, Carlton. Ever."

He started at her quiet admission, worried he'd actually been babbling and he couldn't—not even to O'Hara. Some things were just too sacred to say aloud—except to the person for whom they were intended. But the subtle shake of her head let him know that no… he hadn't said anything. It was simply that, with their bond as partners, she knew, even if she didn't know the specifics.

"When Scott first asked me to stay with him, I'll admit, I experienced a very brief flash of, _yes_, that was immediately overcome with an overwhelming sense of _no_." Propping her elbow on the table, she rested her chin on her fist, a wistful expression on her face. "I was only twenty and there was just so much I wanted to do. There wasn't room there for Scott." Her eyebrow rose as she smiled faintly. "There's _still_ a lot I want to do that doesn't allow for anyone else to be that integral a part of my life."

"Everything we wanted to do, we wanted to do together. There was no doubt. No hesitation." He shifted his gaze back to the water, his voice dropping as he added, "At least, not initially."

"There was no doubt. No hesitation—at all," she corrected. "Not between the two of you. The doubt you experienced was falsely created."

His gaze tracked the boat's path across the water, its sail a brilliant white banner. "But I still succumbed to it."

"You both did. You were inexperienced kids and Karen's father took advantage of that." After a beat she added, "I don't think you'd be led astray that easily again."

He willed his hand to be still as he lifted his cup to take a sip of rapidly cooling coffee.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I point out one final thing?"

"Could I stop you?"

Even as a green rookie detective she'd never been one to be put off by his acerbic responses. He expected this time to be no different.

"I promised Karen I wouldn't push. In the interests of fairness, I have to make you the same promise."

Okay then. Not the response he'd expected. When Juliet had something on her mind, she usually did not hesitate to speak it, even if he was begging her to stop. Not to mention, usually, when she was that insistent, it was because she had a damned good point to make.

Now if she was actually backing off…

_Hell_.

"What is it?" he asked, keeping his gaze resolutely focused on the sailboat, turning now, to head in to shore.

"When Marlowe confronted you about Karen, your first instinct wasn't to stay and deal with Marlowe—it was to find Karen." She let that sink in for a moment before touching his hand and waiting for him to meet her gaze. Her voice so soft it was nearly lost beneath the sound of bell buoys and seagulls' cries, she said, "No doubt. No hesitation."

Trapped and helpless within the brutal truth Juliet's words exposed, he stared, swallowing hard as she nodded in understanding.

"I have to find her."

Juliet smiled and held up the keys.

"I'll drop you off."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

"Mommy, are we going yet?"

"Let me just finish my coffee, honey."

"It's your _third_ cup."

"Yeah, well if I can swing it, I'm gonna go for four," Karen muttered under her breath.

Iris cocked her head, brows drawn together. "What?"

Child had ears like a bat. "Nothing, baby. Finish your breakfast, okay?"

The little girl slid from her chair and held up a plate with a precariously balanced bowl and glass. "I'm finished."

Karen took a deep breath. "Then take your dishes into the kitchen and go make sure you have everything you want in the beach tote."

"Okay." With a smile that left Karen feeling like all was right with her world—at least this one part of it—Iris disappeared into the house, pausing to give her grandmother a kiss as they crossed paths at the large French doors leading out to the courtyard patio.

"She's excited."

Karen looked up at her mother as she lifted her mug. "You'd think we didn't live in a beach town ourselves."

Her mother settled herself in Iris' abandoned chair and poured herself coffee from the thermal carafe on the table. "Well, to be fair, you don't live within walking distance."

"True. You and Dad got lucky, buying this place back before real estate went completely insane."

Karen looked wistfully around the patio of the home in which she'd grown up. Truthfully, her current home was every bit as nice, maybe even nicer in some respects, but there was something about the sprawling California mission-style house, with its peach adobe and weathered pine floors and doors and the central brick courtyard that had always spoken of home to her. Of course, its proximity to the beach hadn't hurt either, allowing her and Barb to grow up as quintessential California girls, swimming and sailing and wandering the beach with abandon. Days of wind-tossed laughter and ice cream sweetness.

She'd spent hours describing this place to Carlton, trying to prove to him that not all childhood homes were lonely or anger-filled. She'd promised him they would have a home filled with love and light—like this—some day.

Of course, _that_ assertion had blown up in rather spectacular fashion, hadn't it? In more ways than one.

For a long while after, her emotions about her home had been ambivalent at best, verging on outright hatred on the bad days. After she'd had Iris, however, her attitude had softened considerably. Seeing the house through the innocent, wondering eyes of her little girl allowed her to once more experience the unique sense of well-being this house had always engendered in her.

"It was a good investment." Her mother leisurely sipped her coffee, the blue-gray eyes both Barb and Iris had inherited narrowing as they studied Karen. "I think more than easy proximity to the beach, though, Iris is happy to have her mother all to herself for a while."

"Mom," Karen began in a warning voice that faded as her mother's eyebrow went up. Didn't matter how old she got, that eyebrow still had the power to silence her. She could only hope hers maintained the same sort of power over Iris.

"Relax, Karen. I know you spend as much time with her as you possibly can, but it's rare for her to have your undivided attention for such an uninterrupted stretch of time—" That eyebrow rose a fraction higher. "Or at least, have that attention completely to herself, even if the focus is a bit fractured."

Karen chose to remain silent, because, you know, not as if Mom was _wrong_. She lifted her mug for another life-giving sip, sighing long and deep as the caffeine hit her system. Yeah. A fourth mug definitely.

"Another bad night?"

"Yeah."

They'd all been bad since the moment she'd shut the door on Juliet Saturday night. She'd talked to her mother for hours, learning while she'd been understandably concerned and upset over her younger daughter's elopement, she'd been as equally in the dark about the part Karen's father had played in the breakup of the young marriage as Karen herself.

At that time.

Mom had confessed that she'd come to learn about it in recent years, but that it had seemed prudent to keep quiet. She'd thought Karen happy and settled—saw no reason to upset what she saw as the peace Karen had achieved between her past and her present.

Karen couldn't be too upset with her mother's decision. She could even understand her reasoning. Didn't stop her from lying awake the rest of the night, crying some more even though she would have sworn she didn't have an ounce of tears left in her. But these tears had been different, lacking the violent intensity and volume of her earlier bouts. They'd emerged in a steady trickle, sad and wistful, her heart breaking anew under the strain of what might have been. And in the rare moments she wasn't crying, she was aching—once again feeling Carlton in her arms. Not the tensile strength of the boy she'd once known so well, but the hot, urgent power of the man she'd so briefly held. Only a taste, but it had been potent and intense and had left her reeling and desperate for more.

That's when she knew she had to leave. Before she did something even more stupid than every stupid thing she'd already done.

By late Sunday afternoon, she had her plans in place—had arranged for Iris to miss school for at least a week and stopped by her office to pick up a few personal effects, berating herself for cowardice as she stopped at Carlton's desk and ran her hands across the worn wood surface, as if trying to take a piece of him with her. She'd briefly considered leaving him a note, trying to explain, but just as quickly dismissed the notion. What was there to explain, after all? Early Monday morning, she'd loaded her car and taken off with an excited Iris for what she thought was simply an impromptu visit with Grandma.

Part of herself had marveled at the extent of her personal masochism, that after everything that had happened, she'd be running right back to where it had all started. At the same time, it was home—and Mom was there—and right now, Karen needed her mom.

Much as she'd experienced a sense of relief at being away from Santa Barbara, however, it really hadn't helped with the internal turmoil. Decisions would have to be made and she was honestly no closer to making them than she'd been on her arrival four days earlier.

Never mind that at the heart of it all was Carlton and the fact that she was missing him. Desperately. And had absolutely no right to.

So yeah. Bad nights.

"Are you still set on looking for another job?"

Karen drained her mug and reached for the carafe. "With Iris' dad looking at possibly transferring to his firm's L.A. office, it seems like a good time to consider a switch. San Clemente's looking for a new chief and it's an ideal location, halfway between Los Angeles and here. Laguna might be, too. Who knows who all else. Lot of possibilities, probably."

"Karen."

She busied herself pouring coffee, stirring in cream and sugar, assiduously avoiding her mother's searching gaze.

"With Barb out on assignment so much, too, it'd be good for me to be closer. And it'd be good for Iris."

"Karen."

Her hand stilled, the silver spoon hot against her skin, but mild in comparison to the heat she could feel flooding her cheeks.

"Only once before have I ever seen you run away."

"Mom," she started weakly, still unable to look up. "I just… I can't."

The breeze rustled through the palms, almost, but not quite obliterating Mom's sigh. "How I wish I'd realized just how very much you loved Carlton. Understood just how real your emotions were. By the time I did—it was too late."

Karen clutched the mug with both hands, but didn't dare attempt to lift it. "Ancient history," she managed.

"Not based on what you've told me," she replied, her voice taking on the crisp tone that had been Karen's legacy from her. Once she'd learned to wield it, a voice used to great effect over the years. "And not based on what arrived in this morning's mail."

A simple cream-colored envelope nudged the side of Karen's hand, her name neatly inscribed on it in a bold, distinctive block script, with his name and address in the upper left.

"Oh," she breathed, her heart skipping around her chest like a grade-schooler hopped up on too much sugar.

_How? Why?_

"Oh, _my_…"

But pragmatism—and pessimism—quickly reasserted themselves. "You know, he could just be writing to tell me he's resigning," she said briskly as she pushed the envelope back toward the center of the table. "Getting as far the hell away from me as he possibly can."

"Oh, for God's sake, Karen—" Mom snapped. "From what you've told me about the man he's become, Detective Lassiter would send a letter printed on department stationery by registered mail if he was resigning." Her voice dropped as she gently slid the letter back beneath Karen's hand. "But I remember Carlton—and _Carlton_ writes letters to the girl he loves."

Karen allowed her fingertips to trace her name, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she felt the indentations the pen strokes had left behind. The more tense he got, the harder he pressed down. She couldn't even count how often she'd noted slight tears and holes in reports that contained Shawn Spencer's name.

"I'm going to go ahead and take Iris to the beach. You can catch up in a bit."

Through a fog, Karen said goodbye to her mother and to Iris, promising that yes, she would catch up _really_ soon, she just had something she had to take care of first, and hugging the little girl fiercely at the resigned expression that crossed her face. Crossing her heart and swearing to die that she _honestly_ would not take long because there wasn't anything she wanted more than to build sandcastles on the beach with her baby girl.

Not a lie, either. She'd treasured these last few days of relative solitude and the rare opportunity to spend unbroken stretches of time with Iris. Her mother was right—it had been good for both of them. While the impromptu getaway may have been rooted in drama and cowardice, the unexpected rewards it had yielded would be held close and treasured.

The house silent around her, she rose from the table and, envelope in hand, climbed the stairs to her old room. Even though it had long since been converted to a more adult guest room, it still contained vestiges of Karen's past: the simple Mission-style furniture that had been her fifteenth birthday gift, the bookshelves containing many of her childhood and teenaged favorites, a collection of photographs that had once adorned a corkboard, but that her mother had at some point collected into a gallery-style frame.

Just enough the same that it seemed natural to bring his letter here.

First, though, she went to the closet where she reached into a dark, hidden corner of the top shelf and drew out a wooden box adorned with Mexican folk carvings and heavy with the dust of having remained undisturbed for years. After wiping off the dust, she carried it to the other part of the room that had remained unchanged—the big bay window seat where she'd spend hours staring out over the distant ocean view and dreaming and later, reading every letter Carlton had ever sent her.

Sitting with one leg tucked up under herself, she regarded the box.

Seriously. Masochist of the highest order. Especially not knowing what this latest letter contained.

_Carlton writes letters to the girl he loves._

Slowly, she lifted the lid and carefully removed a stack of letters, neatly tied with a ribbon that once upon a time had been a brilliant, intense blue. She gently pulled at the faded satin, loosening its hold on the cream-colored stationary, so similar to the envelope currently resting on the windowsill. She picked up the first letter, sliding it from the envelope and unfolding the single page, brittle and spotted with age, the indentations of the pen strokes even more prominent than they'd once been.

* * *

_Dear Karen,_

_You know, I'm not even sure how to do this. Would you believe, this is making me more nervous even than the first time we made love? And I was plenty nervous then._

_God, I can't believe I just wrote that. Told you I had no clue how to do this. Maybe I should just start over, except we promised to write exactly what we were feeling and well… yeah. That's what I'm feeling._

_And you know, I know how to tell you how I feel—I can tell you anything. So I'm just going to pretend you're sitting right across from me and I'm talking to you. (I really hope you're not laughing at me right now.)_

_Anyhow—_

_I miss you. I miss you so damned much, Karen. Without you here it's like… there's no light or warmth. Everything's just kind of faded and bland I guess. I get up, I go to work, I go home, I fix dinner for Lauren and maybe play with her a little. She makes me laugh at least. Then I go to bed and lie in the dark and miss you._

_(And yeah, I think about us and well… I'd better not write any more about that.)_

_And this is with you gone less than two days. How am I supposed to make it three weeks? _

_I know I'll make it—I know we'll make it. But know that I miss you more every day._

_I love you,_

_Carlton_

* * *

The first letter. There were sixteen in total, one for almost every day they'd been apart until she'd broken down and called and said she was coming home. _Carlton_ was home now.

Heart in her throat, Karen read through the rest of the letters, allowing herself to remember.

* * *

…_Went to Giordano's today at lunch for a slice. The guy started to automatically give me both our orders until he realized you weren't there. Said it seemed weird to see me without you. He can't possibly begin to understand how weird it feels. How wrong._

* * *

…_Your letter made me laugh. Your sister can't possibly be that bad, can she? Admittedly, waking you up at five a.m. to go for a fitness run is a bit excessive, and making you go without coffee is downright cruel, so maybe she is. And do not listen to her—your ass is perfect exactly the way it is. And I think I'm in a better position to make that assessment._

* * *

…_Had to leave the house today. Mom said something about how unusual it was to have me home so much. Honestly, at first I wasn't sure if she was complaining because I was around more and you know, breathing, or if she was simply being sarcastic—trying to make a point about how little I'd been around the past few months. Either way, all I could think, as I stood in the kitchen and listened to her bitch, was that this place, it wasn't anywhere I wanted to be. Being with you, even if all we're doing is sitting on the grass on the quad and holding hands, is more home to me than this place has ever been._

_I miss you._

* * *

…_It's three in the morning and I can't sleep—as usual. Truth is, I haven't slept worth a damn since you left. Although I don't want you to feel guilty about it—it's just me being as honest as possible, like I promised._

_Anyway, I'm sitting up in bed, writing by the light of a candle. I could turn on the overhead or even the bedside lamp, but using a candle helps me forget where I'm at and that you're not here. It's a vanilla candle, which reminds me of your perfume and if I lie here and stare long enough at the shadows the candles are casting, I can almost envision that you're here with me—can almost imagine that you're lying beside me, breathing slow and steady as you sleep._

_That's what I want, more than anything. What I need._

_It scares me, Karen. I've tried not to need anyone—it's always been easier that way—but somehow, you've made me need you. How did you do that?_

* * *

Karen sighed as she carefully folded the final letter, slipped it into its envelope, and returned it with the others to the box. Leaning her forehead against the window, she toyed with the faded ribbon, winding it around her finger and shivering as the still-smooth satin slid against her skin. It was one thing to be loved, even to be wanted. To be needed so deeply and so intensely she could feel the tug of that desire from two hundred miles away?

She glanced down at the unopened letter resting on the windowsill.

Gently, she slid her fingertips beneath the flap and worked it loose. Before sliding the folded sheets free, however, she experienced a brief flash of fear. She could pretend she'd never gotten the damned thing. He didn't know for sure she was here—there was no way he could know for certain—and he certainly had no way of knowing that even if she was here, that it would have been passed on to her. She could just pretend and be the one to let him go this time—be the one to do the right thing, even though what her father had pushed Carlton to do had been so very wrong.

While her brain presented every argument possible, her heart took charge, pushing her to reach inside the envelope and draw the letter out. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the sheets with hands that shook enough, she couldn't focus past the greeting—

_My dear Karen—_

A sob escaped as the rest of the words momentarily blurred. She sniffed and blinked and drew on every ounce of reserve she possessed to steady her hands enough to read on—

* * *

_My dear Karen—_

_It's been so damned long since I did this. Nearly twenty-five years as a matter of fact. Police reports I can do in my sleep—short notes, I'm golden—but a letter that reveals more? I'm not even sure I know how to do this anymore. But that's the thing about you—you've always drawn more from me than I ever thought myself capable of—professionally and personally. Especially personally. _

_I may have denied that to myself for far too long, but whether by chance or design or that fickle bitch, Fate, it's been made clear to me that you are the driving force behind so much of who I am. At least, the good parts._

_O'Hara thinks we were maybe like little birds—we imprinted on each other early and while we may have ventured away from the nest, as it were, we always found ways back to each other. I told her that sounded like a crock of crap._

_I'm pretty sure she knows I was lying through my teeth._

_But it's a hell of a thing to have to come to terms with, you know? The idea that there really is only one person who completes you and holds the ability to make you happy. I'm not talking about the day-to-day, I can function and fake it to the rest of the world sort of happy, but that soul deep, abiding, makes you feel complete, happy. The only time I ever believed in the possibility of such a thing was when I was first with you. _

_I thought I'd convinced myself it was youthful, romantic, idealistic BS—after all, we both know the last thing I've ever been prone to is idealism. Again, you were the only person who ever brought that quality out in me. This time is no different._

_I know you're probably reading this and wondering what the hell I'm babbling about and where I'm going with this. I would hope it's obvious—I know it would've been to the girl you were, but you haven't been that girl for a long time, have you? I ruined that and you'll never know how sorry I am but to resort to another one of those damned hoary clichés, that's water under the bridge._

_Anyhow—just so we're perfectly clear:_

_Marlowe and I are over. It was mutual and was honestly more due to my inability to be unflinchingly honest with her about you as it was your confessing our past to her. If you want, I'll tell you everything we said—I'll tell you anything you want to know—but that's better done face-to-face, I think._

_The other reason Marlowe and I are over is because I realized I couldn't be with her. Not feeling the way I do about you._

_I know you, Karen. I know you're going to try to convince yourself none of this can possibly be true and I'm just on the rebound and you know what? You're right—sort of. I have been on the rebound—for nearly twenty-five years. _

_I owe you so much, sweetheart and I need to prove myself to you again. I need to win you again and that's exactly what I intend to do._

_I went to your house on Monday to tell you all of this but of course, you were already gone. I swear to God, nothing I've ever experienced in the field has ever come close to the sheer terror I experienced when I realized you were gone. You can thank O'Hara for your windows remaining intact. She also kept me from tracking your financials and putting a BOLO out on your car, so no, Chief, no reprimands will be necessary. After a couple of shots of Scotch and talking me off the ledge, she got me to stop and think._

_While I don't know for certain that you went home to San Diego, I can be reasonably certain that wherever you've gone, you'll be in contact with your family at some point. So I'll put this in the mail with a wing and a prayer that whoever receives this, sees fit to give it to you. I'd hope that even your father wouldn't try to keep us apart a second time. After all, I'm reasonably certain you finally managed to convince him of your intent to become a cop and I have to think that despite my personal failings, professionally, I've acquitted myself fairly admirably._

_At least enough to be someone who's worthy of you._

_So I'll do what I did before. I'll write you a letter every day that we're apart. I'll let you know exactly how I'm feeling. And I'll hope that it's at least a start in convincing you how damned serious I am._

_Please come home soon._

_I miss you._

_Love always,_

_Carlton_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Given that patience wasn't exactly his strong suit, Carlton considered it a hell of an accomplishment he'd managed to hold out until Saturday. He'd sent the first letter Tuesday, knowing it would arrive on Thursday. Sent the next one as promised on Wednesday. Letter Number Three went on Thursday. Early Friday morning, however, he'd paused in the act of slipping the latest letter into the slot, the early-morning silence in the post office's lobby heavy with the echo of a thousand mocking whispers.

Okay, yes—part of him had hoped, if Karen received the first letter on Thursday, that she might have responded _somehow_. A text, a phone call, an email. Smoke signals.

Semaphores would've done.

But nothing.

Deep inside, however, he hadn't been all that surprised and it wasn't even his native pessimism speaking with such certainty. It was simply that almost more than anyone, Carlton knew how stubborn she was. Regardless of what he'd written so far—all his assertions that it was Karen, it had _always_ been Karen—she no doubt had it in her head he needed time to come to his senses. That the responsibility for his relationship with Marlowe collapsing fell completely on her shoulders. That it was too late for them.

That he'd be better off without her.

The hell he would.

However, he was also well aware of the woman Karen had become. The one who, inexplicable faith in Spencer aside, tended to only trust well-thought out approaches and plans with a high probability of success. So he forced himself to remain patient and channel his emotions into yet another letter. But then the thought she might not even be receiving the letters at all just wouldn't let go and he knew there was only one thing that would assuage his fears.

Now—if he could only stop feeling like a nineteen year-old, fidgety asshat.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the wrought iron door set into the adobe wall and stepped into his past. The small courtyard that provided a buffer between the sidewalk and the front door hadn't changed much in the past twenty-five years. The shutters that had once been dark green had been repainted to a soft, weathered blue and there was a carved Mexican folk bench against an exterior wall, but otherwise, it looked just the same as when he'd stood there nearly twenty-five years earlier, holding tight to Karen's hand as she'd unlocked the door and led him across the threshold.

She'd been nervous, too, her hand cold, the narrow white gold band he'd slipped on her finger digging into his skin, but her obvious pride and love had absolutely radiated from her. She'd been so damned gorgeous, all he'd wanted to do was say this was stupid, _he'd_ been stupid to insist on this—they should just leave, right now, and go back to Santa Barbara where they could just disappear into the life they'd been creating. A feeling that had only intensified as he'd watched the expression on her father's face change from a neutral pleasantness to something harder as he'd noticed the rings on their fingers. The old man had said all the right things—in front of Karen—but Carlton had sensed the boom was imminent.

Even so, he'd thought he could hold out—with the cockiness inherent to all nineteen year-old boys, especially those who were crazy in love—had been certain of his ability to defend himself and Karen. He just hadn't realized how wily the son of a bitch would be.

But he wasn't nineteen anymore, dammit. There was no reason for his palms to be sweating and his heart to be slamming against his chest like leprechauns with sledgehammers were having a field day.

Oh, hell—who was he kidding? He didn't give a rat's ass about facing Karen's parents any longer. He gave a rat's ass about facing _Karen_. It was the idea that she might be behind that door—worse, that she might _not_ be behind that door—that was cause for the leprechauns and sweaty palms.

With a final compulsive adjustment to his shirt collar and a muttered, "Just get _on_ with it, jackass," he pressed the doorbell.

The mellow chimes echoed through the house, followed an instant later by a distant "Do you need me to get that?" in a voice that left his knees feeling more than a little watery. Thankfully, however, it was her mother who approached the wide glass-paned door, because if anyone was going to see him planted face first in the weathered brick pavers, he'd prefer it be Mrs. Dunlap. Despite a dodgy few seconds, however, his knees held and he remained upright. Whether the utter terror he felt was showing on his face, that was another issue altogether. Certainly, her calm countenance didn't reveal a thing as she unlocked the door and held it open.

Staying put on his side of the threshold, Carlton began, "Mrs. Dunlap, I don't know if you remem—"

"Of course I remember you, Carlton." One eyebrow rose and while she and Karen really didn't resemble each other that much, in that moment, she gave off an aura that was so much like her daughter's, Carlton found himself both taken aback and relaxing. A little.

"Well, come _on_," she said, stepping back and opening the door wider. As he stepped through and into the terracotta tiled entry she added conversationally, "I was wondering when you'd show up. I was actually betting on tomorrow, since there wouldn't be mail delivery."

"I—" He stared, dumbfounded for a moment before recovering his voice. "I couldn't wait any longer to see her," he finally admitted. Taking another breath, he met her gaze squarely. "But first, I need to speak with Mr. Dunlap."

She smiled and said, "No, you do not," in the same pleasant tone she might have used to offer him coffee. Closing the door, she put a hand to his back and ushered him through the cool, white-walled rooms, their high ceilings offset by the heavy dark beams soaring overhead, making the rooms feel simultaneously open yet intimate.

One of Karen's favorite features, he recalled with more than a little wistfulness. She'd so wanted a house like this. He'd so wanted to give it to her.

As she led him into the kitchen she added, "There's only one person you _need_ to speak with." Once in the kitchen, however, she shifted her hand to his arm, turning him to face her. "But I want you to see something first."

He finally managed to pry his tongue from the dry roof of his mouth enough to stutter, "Excuse me?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile and again, he marveled at how closely her expressions mirrored her daughter's. Or was that the other way around? Whatever. It's just he could see so much of Karen in that expression—mild overlaid with mildly evil. In that instant, he experienced a flash of just how formidable Karen would be the older she got. Not that she wasn't now. She absolutely was. And he was so absolutely looking forward to her transition into formidable older ladyhood. Harboring every hope he'd be by her side throughout that evolution.

Damned anxious to see her.

Any _time_ now.

"Mrs. Dunlap—

"I'd ask you to call me by my first name," she broke in, her smile gentling, "but I expect you're not likely to be comfortable with that for a while yet."

For a while? Yet? Like she expected him to be… around. With Karen.

Not that it wasn't exactly what he wanted and felt should happen and was going to do his damnedest to _make_ happen, but to be hearing what sounded like a tacit acknowledgment—from Karen's _mother_—that it was something _she_ expected to happen? Moreover, was _okay_ with?

Carlton stood there, feeling as if he'd dropped down Alice's hole. Part of him half-expected a giant Spencer-shaped rabbit clutching a pineapple smoothie to hop by at any second.

"I don't understand."

Not her calm assurances that he didn't need to speak to Mr. Dunlap, not the fact that she actually seemed _pleased_ to see him twenty-five years and enormous emotional trauma to her daughter later, not her mysterious assertion there was something he needed to see—not the implication that she'd be getting to know him well enough for him to call her by her first name. He didn't understand a damned bit of it, but it all faded in light of the fact that the only thing he wanted was Karen and he couldn't understand why he couldn't see her yet. He knew she was here. He'd heard her. More than that,, he could _feel_ her nearness.

"Karen's spoken of you quite a bit this past week so I feel as if I know you—at least well enough—and I certainly know my daughter well, so here's the thing."

Mrs. Dunlap crossed her arms and leveled a stare at him. "Given your natures, not to mention, your shared history, both of you can't help but be cautious if not outright skeptical—of everything and everyone, but perhaps most of all, each other. All understandable, but also a potential recipe for disaster. I'm just trying to eliminate any questions or doubts that might befall the two of you before you even get an opportunity to get your relationship off the ground."

By some miracle, his voice emerged steady and in its actual normal register and not an octave higher as he repeated, "Relationship? I…" Caution prodded his ass as he stammered, "I think that might be a bit presumptuous. You know, um, right now. But I hope—"

Rolling her eyes, she cut off his nervous burblings by the simple act of pulling him to a spot by the French doors leading out to the courtyard patio where Karen sat with Iris at a table before large sheets of paper, paint sets and brushes scattered across its surface. He barely had opportunity to catch his breath at the sight of Karen's elegant profile , clearly laughing at something Iris had said, before Mrs. Dunlap slipped through, leaving the door ajar far enough for him to be able to clearly hear. At her mother's approach, Karen turned more fully toward the house and he stopped breathing altogether

"Who was at the door?"

"Just the mail—"

The leprechauns started with their jackhammering again at the way her face brightened, even as his brain frantically insisted, _relax_, _it probably has nothing to do with you or your letters or_—

"And—?"

"Relax, Karen." From her skirt pocket, Mrs. Dunlap drew a letter—even from this distance, Carlton could tell it was one of his. Likely the one written on Thursday, seeing as Friday's currently resided in the inside breast pocket of his blazer. Not that any of that mattered, really. The _only_ thing that mattered was Karen's expression as she stood and accepted the letter from her mother—the way her fingertips skimmed the surface where he'd written her name in a gentle caress he could _feel_ ghosting across his skin before she lifted it to her lips.

The leprechauns reached up from his chest to shut his brain down with a resounding slam.

"There was also a special delivery." Unnoticed by Karen whose attention was still fixed on his—_his_—letter,Mrs. Dunlap glanced back over her shoulder, the slight inclination of her head clearly conveying, "_Tell me again how I was being presumptuous?_" A moment later, she lifted her eyebrows as if to say, "_Well? What are you waiting for?_" And if he didn't know better, he could almost imagine an acerbic, _"Asshat_," punctuating the end of the silent question, but that was probably just the leprechauns, given he heard it delivered in a distinct Irish brogue.

Also, the thought of his erstwhile mother-in-law delivering an epithet like "asshat" was just…

Yeah… _no_.

Carefully, he pushed open the door and stepped through just as Karen lifted her head, her curious "Oh?" floating off on the breeze as her gaze met his across the courtyard. Softer, she repeated, "oh," as her mother stepped aside, leaving him a clear path.

She stood stock still, barefoot, wearing battered cutoffs and a tank top that revealed endless expanses of sun-kissed skin, wind-tossed honey-blonde hair falling around her face, where a broad stroke of bright blue paint streaked across one cheek.

_God_, she was beautiful.

Even the dark smudges beneath her eyes—a matched set to the ones he'd been facing in his own mirror all week—didn't detract in the slightest. If anything, they only served to draw even more attention to them—dark and luminous and God help him, reflecting the same sort of fragile hope he was experiencing.

Resolutely holding Karen's gaze as he approached, Carlton only vaguely registered Iris' curious, "Who's that, Grandma?" and completely missed whatever Mrs. Dunlap said in response as he came to a halt, leaving barely two feet between them.

"Hi," he said quietly.

Her eyes were huge and watchful, staring at him as if she half-expected him to be a figment of her imagination.

"Hi."

Slowly, he reached into his inside jacket pocket and drew out Friday's letter. "I, um—" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I wanted to deliver this one in person."

"Why?" That deep brown gaze flickered down to the letter and back to his face, curious overlaid with a healthy dose of that caution he'd fully expected.

He shrugged. "No mail on Sunday."

Her perfect full mouth curved in a slight smile as she held up the letter her mother had just handed her. "But it's Saturday."

That smile was very nearly his undoing, leaving him as lightheaded as if he'd just been riding the wildest, fastest roller coaster at the fair. A subtle edge crept into his voice as he admitted, "I couldn't wait."

Next thing he knew, she'd stepped closer, definitely into his personal space and never had he been more glad to have it invaded. Warmth radiating from her, she reached out, as if to take the letter, but closed her hand over his instead, her hold sure, if trembling a bit.

Keeping her gaze fixed on their hands she quietly said, "Mom accused me of running away."

He swallowed hard. "You kind of did."

"I had to."

"I know."

Her shoulders rose and fell with a huge sigh just before she moved those last few inches, her head coming to rest on his chest. Carlton knew they had a curious audience, he knew there were still questions, he knew it was only the beginning of what was sure to be a long road, but in that moment, he simply didn't care. All he cared about was that Karen was finally in his arms—where she should have been long ago.

With a slow, relieved sigh, he lowered his head over hers, wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and held her close.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**AN: **If some of you are reading this a second time and wonder if your mind is playing tricks on you, no—it's not. I've been tweaking. This is what I get for posting at 1:30 in the morning without proofreading. Also, Loafer's "I've heard it both ways," suggestion was too delicious to pass up, so I revised to include it.

Carry on.

* * *

…_You know, there's something that's been on my mind that I just know I'm going to wind up saying out loud at some point and with my spectacular ability for stepping in it, I'm likely to say it at the worst possible time and have you get crazy pissed at me, so I might as well just say this and hope the crazy pissed isn't too horrible. (And could that sentence be any more run on?) Anyway, if you're going to be mad at me, we can get it over and done with. At least __this__ thing. I'm sure there are going to be plenty of other things you'll get pissed off at me about because, let's face it, I'm me and you're you and one thing we've always been good at is arguing._

_We were also crazy good at making up, too, but I've been trying not to dwell on that overmuch. Trying not to get too far ahead of myself but then again, the thought of having nearly twenty-five years to make up for… __Damn__, sweetheart—and oh, hell, I'm thinking about it. Hang on…_

_Sorry about that—had to go take a cold shower and good Lord, I can't believe I just wrote that, but then, there have been a lot of things I've committed in writing to you I can't believe I've ever admitted. _

_So anyway, that thing that was on my mind—well, it's this: when you dropped back into my life, that's when I knew God had a cruel sense of humor._

_Stop laughing and hear me out._

_I knew then, I was being punished. Didn't matter that at the time we were in different divisions and not interacting day-to-day—just knowing you were so close was just… hell. Then you were promoted to Chief ahead of me, and I don't care if it was just interim at the time, it still meant that not only were you all of a sudden my boss, you were right there._

_Even if I'd long since convinced myself there wasn't a damned thing between us and hadn't been for a long time and anyway, you were married and expecting Iris and completely and utterly unattainable and probably hated me, you were still __right there__. Every day._

_That's__ when I knew without a doubt God hated me and intended to punish me for time immemorial for being an arrogant ass. And an idiot. Which only solidified my opinion that God's also probably a woman._

_There. I said it. If you need me to, I'll say it out loud, but only to you and hopefully you'll give me fair warning so that I can say it at a time where I don't make a complete horse's ass out of myself._

_Not that I haven't already done that. Repeatedly. _

_So, yeah._

_You're so laughing at me, aren't you?_

* * *

Well… maybe not laughing, per se…

Okay, yeah, she was laughing—at little. At the same time, she was also melting more than a little inside at how very much he was revealing with his letters, intentionally as well as unintentionally. Peeling back the layers, bit by bit.

He'd changed so much, yet at the heart of it all, was still the Carlton she'd first fallen in love with.

She carefully set the letter aside—the "special delivery" one—and turned back toward the bathroom mirror to put the finishing touches on. Not much, really—lipstick, powder, and of course, the all-important concealer beneath her eyes, even though… damn.

Yeah. Losing battle. A raccoon's mask was more subtle.

She sighed as she regarded herself in the mirror and carefully dabbed the concealer on, determined to do what she could, even though… yeah. Losing battle. Beyond the clear evidence of a week's lack of sleep, there just wasn't any makeup in the world that could mask of the evidence of the passage of time—the changed contours and tiny lines that had encroached over the past twenty-five years. Intellectually she understood it was simply evidence of a life lived—lived well at that, given there were more laugh lines than worry lines. Moreover, she _knew_—given how Carlton had stared at her, like she was the most beautiful thing in the world even in her grungy clothes and with paint on her makeup-free face—he didn't give a damn, but she did. At least a little. While she was more than satisfied with her general appearance and was even happy with how she looked for a woman in her forties, she just… just…

Oh, _hell_.

She wanted to be pretty for him. Wanted to feel ready for whatever the rest of the day—and beyond—might bring.

She sighed again—a completely different flavor of sigh—as she ran the brush through her hair a final time. Honestly, it was entirely likely they would've _still_ been standing in the courtyard, holding each other, feeling their heartbeats slowly falling into sync, if the outside world hadn't made itself known in the form of her mother's subtle throat clearing followed by Iris' clinical, "I've never seen Mommy hug any of her other friends like _that_."

Both of them blushing, they'd pulled apart, although she'd kept firm hold of his hand, reluctant to let go, half-fearful he was just a mirage her tired, heartsick mind had conjured. She'd then formally introduced Carlton to Iris, explaining he was someone she worked with but was also an old friend—a very good friend. A shadow had clouded the little girl's face, but Karen had rushed in to reassure her that Carlton wasn't there for any work-related reasons, praying that was the primary source of Iris' consternation. God knows, she'd done her best over the past year to make it clear that while she and Daddy still loved Iris more than anything else in the world, they didn't love each other in the way they should to stay married. However, not having anything resembling a social life—much less one involving a _man_—probably hadn't helped to make that argument too convincing, and if her ex had been dating, it wasn't anyone he'd made a point of introducing to Iris.

So no doubt, the door of possibility had remained open in Iris' mind, even if it had long since been firmly closed and locked. Even before she and her ex had formally separated, let alone divorced.

After another quick once over in the mirror, she returned to the bedroom where she carefully stored the latest two letters in the Mexican folk box before quickly slipping into a dark blue sundress. Scooping up a pair of flats and her purse, she padded down the stairs and back out to the patio, smiling at the sight that greeted her.

Carlton sat, jacket off and sleeves rolled up as she'd seen him so many times over the years, but rather than frowning down at witness statements or prepared to draw his weapon at some inanity Spencer was spewing forth, he was instead holding a paint brush and being instructed in the subtleties of watercolor technique. At least, as evinced by a six-year-old.

As if he could sense her gaze, he turned his head, blue eyes warm and mellow and lacking the slightest hint of boredom or impatience. Actually... check that. The longer she stood there, smiling at him, the more the blue of his eyes deepened, revealing more than a hint of impatience, but it clearly had nothing to do with the little girl showing him how to watercolor. More like impatience with the _big_ girl who'd kept him waiting too damned long.

Sensation prickled along the surface of her skin, as if that blue gaze was reaching across the patio and stroking everywhere it could touch, deliberately and with great promise.

Dropping her shoes and purse on one of the chaise lounges, she approached the artistic duo, skimming her fingertips along the back of Carlton's neck as she passed behind him on her way to Iris. She smiled at the tension she felt immediately invade his muscles and the way his pupils dilated, leaving behind only a thin, startling rim of blue. An instant later, she felt that same tension invade her own muscles as his free hand came to rest on her back, bare due to the cut of her dress, his long fingers tracing the line of her spine in a seemingly leisurely fashion.

Right.

Leisurely.

What did that mean again?

Also, breathing. Breathing was good. Or so she'd heard.

"What are you painting, honey?" she asked Iris, hoping her voice didn't actually sound as strangled out loud as it did in her head.

"The beach," she answered matter-of-factly, dipping her brush into the blue paint and adding another wave with a flourish.

Not a surprise. It had been her favorite subject matter since they'd arrived. A familiar twinge vibrated deep in Karen's chest before she beat it back with her customary pragmatism. Her mother was right—Iris' current fascination with the beach had less to do with physical proximity than to what it had represented for them this past week.

She would definitely need to look into adjusting her work schedule—she was the damned Chief of Police, for God's sake. There wasn't any reason that she couldn't consider taking four day weekends twice a month if she made the time up the weekends Iris was with her father. And maybe looking for a new home closer to the beach wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

She shivered as Carlton's hand continued to slowly caress her back.

_Maybe…_

She gave herself a hard, mental head shake.

_Getting ahead of yourself there, girl,_ echoed through her head, even as _…the thought of having nearly twenty-five years to make up for… _followed closely in its wake.

"Carlton's eyes are like the ocean, aren't they, Mom?"

She glanced from her daughter's downturned head to look down into the eyes that yes, did mirror the ocean and the sky and in which she'd once lost herself for hours at a time, determined to decipher all the mysteries living within the myriad shades of blue.

"Yeah, they are," she replied softly, as much for him as Iris. The smile he gave her in return communicated he remembered all those hours, too. Communicated he was looking forward to revisiting those hours as much as she was. Karen felt that all-too-familiar warmth invade and slowly spread throughout her body. The thought of revisiting those hours—those endless moments of simply _being_ together—was no longer a matter of wishful thinking. Now, it was simply a matter of _when_.

_Dear God, soon. Please._

"And what did you paint, Carlton?" she asked, her voice coming easier, even with his hand still tracing devastating patterns on her back. Good heavens but it all just felt so _right_.

Right though it may have felt, however, she still only found herself able to draw a full breath after he removed his hand in order to pick up his finished masterpiece of…

"The range," he intoned as matter-of-factly as Iris had declared "the beach."

Other people might have used "the range" to mean _Home on the Range_, wide open spaces, but Carlton Lassiter was most assuredly _not_ other people. Karen suppressed a groan at the unmistakable, if a bit simplistic, image of the _gun_ range, targets neatly lined up and waiting for practice to commence.

"_Really_, Carlton?"

"Hey—I was given a directive to create a peaceful scene." He tilted his head, studying his work. "It's supposed to represent Sunday mornings, that perfect moment of silence before emptying a full clip with devastating precision."

Briefly closing her eyes and sighing, Karen opened them to find Iris regarding Carlton with a steady, assessing gaze. "The beach is more peaceful, Carlton."

Once upon a time, Carlton would have vociferously argued with anyone who dared contradict his idea of peaceful. Come to think of it, he would _still_ argue with anyone who dared contradict his idea of peaceful, especially if it involved the gun range—except, it was becoming clear, _not_ Iris.

Carlton's gaze met Iris'—intense blue to softer blue-gray—and he nodded slowly. Exchanging his painting for hers, all blue sea and sky and golden sand dotted with lifeguard stands and palm trees, he slowly said, "I never really spent a lot of time at the beach, Iris. Maybe you can show me what you like so much about it?"

Karen's heart broke a little at his hesitant tone—at the fear she could so clearly hear beneath the words. There he was again—_her_ Carlton—the boy she'd gotten to know so long ago. Who still existed beneath the bluster and arrogance and bad temper of the man. That he was sharing himself, even in such a small way with her daughter? She didn't know if she had room within herself for everything she was feeling in that moment.

"Come on, Mommy, let's go."

She blinked back the tears that had been threatening and swallowed hard. "Go where, baby?"

Iris slid from her chair and gave Karen's hand an impatient tug. "Go show Carlton the beach."

And Karen's heart broke yet again, at the naked emotion that flashed across Carlton's face. However, regardless of how overwhelmed Karen was that Iris already seemed to instinctively grasp that Carlton was going to be a person of some importance in their lives and was willing to share a favorite thing with him, at the same time, she'd been waiting a long damned time for a chance with this man. It was, to borrow parlance from her daughter, _her_ turn.

"Not today, honey—Carlton and I are going out for dinner. We have some things to talk about."

Immediately, Iris' smile dimmed and tears welled in her eyes and while Karen hated being the source of dismay, she was also Mom and well-accustomed to it. Came with the turf.

"Iris—" she began as her mother stepped out into the courtyard from the kitchen, as if drawn, with the sense all mothers possessed, by the impending storm.

"You said it wasn't anything about work. You _swore_."

Just as Karen was about to lay the law down, she realized Iris' wail wasn't being directed at her—rather, the little girl was facing a still-seated Carlton, dark red staining her cheeks as her fists clenched. Oh no, this would _not_ do. But before she could put the kibosh on the impending tantrum, Carlton spoke.

"I wasn't lying, Iris. I swear."

The red faded at the unexpected calm in his voice, but her lower lip still quivered and a single tear spilled over. "But you work with Mommy and work _always_ takes Mommy away and she promised work wouldn't take her while we were here. And _you_ promised."

Carlton's ever-expressive eyes showed clear terror, but his voice remained steady. "But I already told you, I'm not here because of work. I'm here because I…" His shoulders rose with a deep breath and while Karen wanted nothing more than to put her hand on that wide expanse, reassure him she was there, she sensed his need to do this by himself.

"I _really_ missed your mom and I really wanted to see her."

The red was down to a far more moderate pink as Iris stared at Carlton with a new, calculating light in her eyes. Karen held her breath.

"You're seeing her now."

_Damn_.

Carlton glanced over his shoulder to meet her gaze, the terror dialed down to simple fear in his. "Can't fault the kid's logic—it is pretty airtight. Wonder where she gets it from?"

As her mother stifled a knowing chuckle, Karen mouthed _smartass_ earning a grin that made her heart skip a beat. Still, though, logic or not, Iris was bordering on intolerable behavior. How to argue with it, though, without being dubbed Meanest Mom Ever and potentially earning Carlton a black mark from which it would be difficult to recover? Once again, though, Carlton beat her to the punch.

"Hey Iris, can we make a deal?"

"What?"

"It's actually getting a little late for the beach—especially if there's a lot you want to show me—but maybe we can have dinner together and you can tell me more about it? I mean, I _am_ a detective—I like being prepared."

"All of us?"

He nodded.

Iris' suspicious expression slowly softened, leaving Karen feeling simultaneously relieved and resigned. All right, then. Family dinner it was.

Family… yeah.

_Yes_.

Too many men would have trouble accepting Iris' presence and importance in her life—would resent the times Iris would have to take precedence. Not so Carlton. Then again, he'd _been_ there. Had cut Iris' umbilical cord and been the first to hold her. Had established a connection, however tenuous and unlikely it might have seemed at the time, that clearly, had endured.

Giving into temptation, she placed her hand on Carlton's shoulder, breathing deep as she felt him lean back slightly, his soft hair brushing her forearm in a tantalizing caress.

"How's everyone feel about pasta?"

Once again, Iris' brows drew together. "I don't want pasta, Grandma—I want spaghetti."

"I've heard it both ways."

At her mother's easy response, Karen felt Carlton's shoulder twitch beneath her hand. She couldn't help but be a little spooked herself and only just resisted the temptation to look around and make certain that Shawn wasn't lurking anywhere about, practicing some heretofore unknown ability of throwing his voice.

After directing a curious look their way, Mom held out her hand. "Come on, Iris—come help me in the kitchen."

Iris took a step toward her grandmother, then paused to turn and level a stare at Carlton. "You're not going to sneak off with Mommy while I'm helping Grandma, are you?"

Once again, Carlton's shoulders shook yet his voice remained grave. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm just going to help your mom clean up out here while you help your grandma. Sound good?"

"Sounds good." With a nod, Iris turned and stalked off with a righteous dignity that left Karen shaking her head.

"That was exceedingly kind of you and exceedingly unnecessary," she said, placing her other hand on his shoulders. "She can't always get her way."

"I know that but as far as I'm concerned, this is a win-win situation." In one smooth move, Carlton rose from the chair and turned so she held him in a loose embrace. "She got valuable practice for what is _clearly_ a bright future in hostage negotiation and I still get to see you." His hands rose to frame her face. "That's all I really wanted when I left Santa Barbara this morning. I just wanted to see you. I needed to see you, Karen."

"That's not what I got from your letters," she teased. Rising on tiptoe she whispered in his ear, "Cold showers? Poor baby."

"Worth every icy, hypothermic moment." His hands slid into her hair and tilted her head back.

"Still, though, this couldn't have been what you expected."

He gazed down, his eyes standing out like brilliant blue beacons in the dimming late afternoon light. "And I'm telling you, I had absolutely no expectations. Just a hell of a lot of hope."

Karen slid her arms more fully around his waist, relishing the warmth of him through smooth Oxford cloth. "That's not like you."

He lowered his head, ghosting small kisses along her cheekbones and jaw, working his way to her ear. "It's like I wrote in my letters," he murmured, his voice a sensual rumble against her skin, "the things you inspire in me would be unthinkable otherwise."

As his mouth found all those wonderful, secret, incredibly sensitive spots that hadn't been touched in far too long, she felt her resignation rapidly evolving into frustration. He was _here_, dammit, in her arms, his mouth on her skin, his breath leaving damp trails that made her shiver as they cooled while her insides slowly melted into a fiery pool, and they were about to sit down to a spaghetti dinner with her mother and daughter.

And Carlton thought God hated _him_?

Ha.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Karen entered the kitchen just as Carlton placed the last rinsed plate in the dishwasher.

"You didn't have to do that," she said as she came up alongside him, her fingertips grazing the length of his forearm and making him shiver. Again.

All evening, she'd gifted him with those light, fleeting touches—her hand to his, her bare foot grazing his ankle, at one point even briefly resting her head on his shoulder, her hair teasing the underside of his jaw—leaving him in a heightened state of utter and complete sensation. He knew he'd managed to function—had conversed amicably with Mrs. Dunlap, quizzed Iris about the beach—but with each of those touches, each time his gaze had met Karen's, anticipation had continued to build until he felt like a damned pressure cooker.

"Yeah, I did." After wiping his hands dry, he picked up his wine glass—and oh, hey, look at that, his hand _wasn't_ shaking like a leaf, yay for _some_ self-control—and took a sip. "Your mom was kind enough to make dinner, least I could do is help clean up."

"Such a gentleman," she teased gently as she took the glass from him. Holding his gaze, she deliberately put her mouth where his had been and took a long sip. Every muscle from his abdomen southward clenched with a slow, deep heat.

"Not really," he said softly. "In fact, I've been entertaining some incredibly ungentlemanly thoughts for the past several hours. Days," he amended as he reached out and used his thumb to swipe a ruby drop from the lush curve of her lower lip. With the same deliberation as when she'd drunk from his glass, he lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked it clean. As her gaze followed his movements, her pupils dilated, black nearly swallowing the deep brown and the glass trembled in her hand. That he could inspire such reactions in her—that they could inspire such reactions in each other—ratcheted the deep heat up a notch to a slow, rolling boil.

Mrs. Dunlap chose that moment to reenter the kitchen, a freshly bathed and pajama-clad Iris in tow.

"You're still here!" Iris cried as she rushed between them, lightening the heavy sense of anticipation—but only just.

With a smile, and further clenching of his gut muscles as he watched Karen take another slow sip of wine, he dropped to a knee to face Iris. "I told you I wouldn't leave before you went to bed."

Iris' solemn blue-gray gaze regarded him. "Yeah, but work always calls at the worst times—at least, that's what Mommy says."

Carlton felt a fist grab and twist his heart at the pain he spotted flashing across Karen's face. How difficult must it have been for her—especially in the last year since her divorce. He tried to estimate how many after-hours calls she might have received—how many cases demanding she stay late. Wondered how often had she been required to abdicate the parenting role in favor of her role as Chief?

Right there, he resolved to do what he could to alleviate that load for her. He was the Head Detective after all—second in damned command. Most of the time it was ultimately his call as to when the Chief was brought in on a case. With a guilty start he wondered how often had _he_ called her in earlier than necessary? Could his subconscious have been selfishly trying to establish his place in the pecking order of her life? Try to prove he even _had_ a place?

If so, that was really pathetic. And he owed this little girl a hell of a lot. Not to mention, her mother.

"No—" He shook his head. "Work can't call me in this weekend. I made certain of it."

He looked away from Iris to meet Karen's gaze for a brief, searing moment. He'd hoped to be spending time with her. If he'd come up empty, however, there was a brand new bottle of Jameson's waiting back at his condo. Either way, he would have been utterly useless. Better to leave O'Hara in charge.

Safer at any rate.

"Does that mean you're going to stay here tonight?"

"Uh, no."

He ignored Karen's choked giggle and the smirk on Mrs. Dunlap's face. Further proof the women were related, as neither made any move to rescue him from this potential minefield.

"But I was hoping, though, that it would be okay now for me to take your Mom out for a while."

Warmth enveloped his back as Karen stepped up behind him, her hand finding a comfortable niche on his shoulder, as it had so many times tonight already.

"You _will_ be taking her Mommy out for a while."

As he stood, her hand slid down his arm to grasp his in a brief, warm clasp.

"Iris, Carlton was incredibly nice and understanding about your worries. Now that he's proved to you his being here has nothing to do with work, he and I are going to go out and you're going to let Grandma put you to bed, no arguments."

Karen's voice was firm. Not quite Chief Vick dealing with the troops or even Chief Vick dealing with the Village Idiots who masqueraded as police consultants firm. but with a definite note of brooking no argument. Personally, he found it kind of hot. Then again, there was little about Karen he didn't find almost unbearably hot.

Judging by Iris' wide-eyed nod and quiet "Okay, Mommy," _she_ understood that note meant she'd hit the limits of Mommy's tolerance. Or maybe it was just that Carlton had managed to convince her he had no ulterior motives.

At least no ulterior motives that involved work.

And even though it hadn't gone precisely as he might have originally envisioned, he couldn't exactly quibble with the evening thus far. Seeing Karen with Iris—gaining an understanding for how deeply Iris' need for her mother ran—had been an eye-opener for him. And while he might be well past the point of needing parental approval, he couldn't deny it was kind of nice to feel as if, after all these years, Mrs. Dunlap was on his side. Hell, that _anyone_ was on his side.

It did beg the question of Karen's father and his marked absence—but likely he was just away on business. Even though the man was well past retirement age, he'd always struck Carlton as one of those work until he dropped at his desk types. Pots and kettles and all that.

Although, he realized as he watched Karen pick Iris up and hold her close, it was clear that was going to have to change.

He _hoped_ it would have to change.

"Carlton—"

At the sound of Iris' voice, he paused in the act of shrugging on his jacket. "Yes?"

In the next instant he found himself instinctively cradling Iris' weight as she clambered from her mother's embrace and into his.

"I—"

"Goodnight," she said, her hold on his neck cutting off his supply of oxygen, but hey, it was okay.

"Goodnight," he managed, adjusting his hold so she was cradled more securely against his hip. He might have thought it awkward, holding a child—especially one not his own—but like the first time he'd held Iris, it came naturally. And even though he understood Karen had set the limits and expected that Iris would adhere to them without argument, he couldn't help but seek one final reassurance.

Leaning back slightly, he looked into Iris' face. "You sure it's okay I take your mom out for a while?"

She nodded, although her brows drew together. "You'll bring her back, right?"

"Always," he promised and _meant _it. Seeing in the features of the little girl, the baby he'd held all-too-briefly so long ago and feeling as he had then, the odd sensation she was trusting him.

Lightning fast, she leaned in, kissed his cheek, and slithered from his hold, disappearing down the hallway like a sprite fueled by sea air and pure joy. And where had that come from? He'd never been one given to fanciful imagery—at least, hadn't been for a long, long time.

"They have such a way of twisting your heart and making you wonder how you ever managed to exist without them."

The inspiration for his earliest flights of fancy spoke softly as her hand found his again. Unable to resist, he moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

"I'm getting that," he said as he rested his chin on her hair and tried to fight back a familiar wistful pang.

"It's part of what allows them to survive—" Mrs. Dunlap broke in, her voice wry. "Right up there with that delicious baby smell. Kept me from drowning your sister, in particular, more times than I can recall."

With a quick glance back over her shoulder in the direction down which Iris had disappeared, she added in a softer voice, "I won't expect to see you until tomorrow. If you're not back by the time Iris wakes up, I'll tell her we're letting you sleep in and take her out to breakfast."

Heat flooded Carlton's face at the casual matter-of-factness lacing the older woman's voice. He hadn't felt quite so… _exposed_ about his intentions since, well… pretty much since the last time he'd been in this house and Karen had confidently led him to her room that first night, Mr. Dunlap's disapproving gaze boring into his back the entire way down the hall. He'd been on the verge of offering to sleep on the living room sofa—or, you know, the garage—but Karen, his glorious, beautiful Karen, had maintained firm hold of his hand and after reassuring him her parents' room was on the other side of the house and there was no way they could hear anything and for God's sake, Carlton, they were _married_, had seduced the ever loving hell out of him.

That had been the last night they made love.

While he wrestled his self-consciousness under control—they were all _adults_, for crap's sake—Karen stepped forward and into her mother's arms for a brief, intense embrace. He heard her low tones, but couldn't quite make out the words—not that he really needed to. It was clearly a mother/daughter moment. A moment later, however, he found himself included as Mrs. Dunlap lifted her head to meet his gaze. In it, he saw a similar expression to what he'd seen in Iris' very similar blue-gray gaze—she was trusting him. In this case trusting he wouldn't break her daughter's heart a second time.

With a final smile and quiet "good night," she disappeared down the hall after Iris, leaving Carlton holding his breath as Karen turned to face him.

"So," she said with a smile and a light flush invading her cheeks.

"So."

The pink deepened and a desperate note entered her voice. "Carlton—"

"I have a surprise." He approached her slowly, his insides churning with a combination of apprehension and anticipation.

Karen's eyes brightened with a light of recognition. "Please tell me it's a hotel room." Her voice was low and throaty and harkened back to the many, many hours they'd once spent wrapped in each other.

"You've always known me so well." Dropping to a knee, he reached for her shoes and slipped them on, running his hands up her calves as he rose.

"Not for too damned long," she murmured as she stepped close, her breasts brushing his chest with the slightly unsteady breathing that matched his and even that was damn near enough to drive him straight out of his mind. "But I intend for that to change. As soon as you can get us the hell out of here."

And anxious as he was to do just that, Carlton simply couldn't resist leaning down and kissing her—hard. Maybe too damned hard, but she didn't seem to be complaining much. At all, actually. His arms reflexively slid around her waist and held on tight as she stroked her tongue against his and dragged her teeth across his lower lip in a way that left him seeing stars.

Drawing back slightly she murmured in a breathless rush, "Race you to the car."

His scrambled brain barely had time to translate the words before she was gone—not so much a sprite, but a siren, her call beckoning and oh-so-seductive.

Not simply his second chance, but his _final_ chance.

With a grin, he took off after her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**AN:** Heading into **M** territory with this chapter, folks. These two have earned it, no? Also, sorry for the delay—hopefully, no more of those. *she says with crossed fingers*

* * *

_I have a surprise for you._

_Oh my God, Carlton, is that a hotel room key?_

_Yeah._

_But I told you I already arranged to borrow Trish and Kelly's apartment while they're gone for break._

_I know, but it just didn't seem… right. It seemed sort of cheap and, I don't know, not worthy of you._

_But how can we afford—_

_Not we—me. I've worked a lot of overtime the last couple of weeks. Thought it would help with missing you. To say I was wrong about that would be understating it, but at least we get _something_ out of it._

_Oh, baby—_

_Don't you get it, Karen? I love you so damned much—I'd do anything for you._

_I love you too, Carlton. More than anything._

* * *

"The Del." Karen sighed as she slowly walked through the room to the white-railed balcony overlooking the Pacific. To her left, the white clapboard siding and distinctive red conical roof of the historic Hotel Del Coronado overlooked the evening beach like the elegant old Victorian girl she was.

"I've always wanted to stay here." She leaned against the railing, breathing deep of the salty air as the rhythmic pounding of the surf soothed her nerves. God knows, there was a lot of soothing to be done.

"I remember." Warmth surrounded her as Carlton came up behind her, his hands gently stroking her bare arms and raising goosebumps that didn't have a damned thing to do with the cool evening air. "I tried so hard to forget, but damn if I don't remember everything."

Even with his body surrounding hers, the desire rolling off him in waves, uncertainty gripped Karen. Turning, she looked up into his face, the play of shadows and her memories sweeping the years away and rendering him the passionate nineteen year-old she'd fallen so utterly in love with.

"Carlton, are you sure?"

The familiar frown drew his brows together and revealed the man—certain, but not above being possessed by the same hint of fear she battled. "Are you?"

"God, _yes_." Restless, yet unwilling to move away from the security of his warmth, she turned to face the ocean again, her gaze following the caps on the waves, glowing white in the light from the moon until breaking into lacy iridescent patterns against the sand. Her fingers curled around the balcony rail she carefully said, "It's just… a week ago you were in love with another woman—a woman you had every intention of marrying. And now…" Her voice trailed off helplessly, washing away with the surf.

"Actually, a week ago, I was driving away from you—_again_—and wondering how in hell I could have ever been so stupid as to let myself leave you in the first place." His low voice was laced with obvious pain and regret. "Everything since that moment twenty-five years ago has been nothing more than desperate attempts to recapture what we had and failing utterly. My punishment, I guess."

Karen turned once more, so fast, her head swam. "Carlton please—you have _got_ to stop shouldering the total blame for that." Needing to touch him, she gripped his forearms, the light wool of his blazer warm and rough beneath her palms—a ballast for the turmoil churning within her. "Dad read you like a wide-open book. He _knew_ you were the kind of man with the strength of character to do what was right."

A disbelieving snort escaped. "He sure read that wrong, didn't he?"

"Oh, no baby—don't you see? He absolutely didn't." Her chest burned with the intensity of shared pain and lost years. "He wasn't counting on your love not being strong enough—he was counting on the absolute strength of it."

"If I was so strong, would I have left you the way I did?"

"If you were convinced you were doing what was best for me? Yes." Her response was instant and rang with conviction.

In the dim light spilling from the room, his eyes stood out brilliant and intense. "How the hell can you believe in me so strongly? After everything—"

"I love you." Her hands slid down his arms to capture his hands, lacing their fingers together in a loose, yet secure hold. "I don't think I ever stopped loving you. Not completely." Her fingers tightened on his. "And I can't believe, loving you as much as I did, that I let you down so badly."

"_What?_ No." His voice reflected utter and honest shock. "God, _no_, Karen. You never did."

"I did." Her voice thickened. "I should have guessed Dad got to you. I should have run right after you and forced you to tell me what could possibly make you walk away without warning but I was so damned hurt and stupid and prideful—"

"And your dad read _you_ like an open book." His gaze bored into hers, making her feel as if he had a bird's eye view straight into her soul. "He counted on that pride and that damned stubborn streak keeping you from coming after me." For the first time, a ghost of a smile crossed his face, but it was laced with a sadness she felt all the way into her own heart. "Face it, sweetheart, we both got played. By a virtuoso."

Despite her best efforts, a single tear spilled over, leaving a bitter hot trail against her skin. "How could he do that to us?"

"He thought he was protecting you." Carlton sighed. "From me."

"No." She shook her head, not certain he'd believe her, but absolutely certain she had to try to convince him. "Not from you. From me." Another tear escaped, following in the wake of the first. "I have no doubt he loves me, but he never trusted me. Not to know what I really wanted."

A charged silence fell between them then, ever so slowly, Carlton lifted a hand to her face, his skin warm against hers as he gently wiped away her tears. The sheer tenderness in the simple gesture prompted another tear to spill forth, hot and scalding against her skin. Her eyes closed as Carlton lowered his head, his lips trapping the tear against the corner of her mouth.

"What do you want, Karen?" As he spoke, his tongue brushed her skin, then again, more deliberately, before commencing a trail of light, sweet kisses along her jaw his hand sliding into her hair.

"Tell me what you want."

There was really only one answer.

"You," she sighed, her head dropping back into his hold, leaving her neck exposed to his wandering mouth. "I want _you_, Carlton." She fisted her hands in his hair, hissing as his teeth trailed white hot desire along her neck to her shoulder. As he latched on and sucked hard, she moaned and tugged on his hair. "I need you. _Now._"

As he shifted his oral assault to her collarbone, his free hand moved to her skirt, rucking it up out of the way. Her gasp was lost against the sound of fabric tearing, the silky material of her underwear easily giving way to his impatient tugging. An instant later she gasped again as his fingers sought out her heat.

His groan vibrated against her skin. "God, Karen, you feel perfect."

Knees watery, she flailed momentarily until her hands found purchase on his shoulders. She was already so close… so damned close…

"Carlton," she whimpered, lost in the dizzying sensation of having his hands on her—in her—after far too long. As his thumb moved and stroked with devastating accuracy, she fell, her climax hitting hard and fast, leaving her convulsing, muscles clutching, desperate to hold him close, wanting even more.

One hand returning to his hair, she pulled again, bringing his face—alive with the same wonder she felt consuming her—even with hers.

"I _need_ you," she repeated, as clearly and distinctly as she could manage around the shudders still wracking her body. "Now."

Impatient beyond all reason, she pushed at his jacket, groaning as his hands briefly left her body to shrug the thing off. An instant later she sighed as he found his way home again, his mouth seeking hers with an almost crazed urgency she returned, molded perfectly together, tongues and teeth seeking and plundering. Despite echoes of that first powerful climax still vibrating deep within, she was crazy for more, for all of him—this man she'd been denied for far too long.

Fumbling with belt and zipper, she reached inside his slacks and boxers to take him in hand, a fresh wave of desire overwhelming her at the feel of him, all smooth, hot arousal, leaving her breasts heavy and aching inside the bodice of her dress.

His teeth latched onto her lower lip, a moan escaping as his hips surged forward into her sensual grasp.

As she stroked, fast and deliberate, she pleaded, "Carlton, now, please, God, _now_."

"Bed," he croaked, but it was too late. Fueled by the urgency in her voice and her body moving against his, he dropped into one of the chaise lounges, pulling her to straddle him. An instant later, she had him in her hand again, scooting back to place a tantalizing kiss against that silky hot flesh. Moving back into position, she leaned forward with a whispered, "Later," as she sank down, her body welcoming him like a piece of her missing for far too long.

"Ditto," he groaned, as his arms came around her and pulled her down to lie completely over him. One hand rose to cup the back of her head, his voice a low, sensual rumble against her ear, "Twenty-five years to make up for."

"Looking forward to it." Her fingers busily worked at the buttons of his shirt, spreading the fine cotton wide. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she trailed her fingertips through the thick, coarse hair down to the smooth skin over his ribs. Lowering her head, she used lips and teeth on one nipple then the other, her body tightening at the groan she felt vibrating deep in his chest. Her hips began rocking, slow at first, quickly increasing in pace, her body needing more, more, _more_—driven by his groans and whispered encouragement. At one point his hands dropped to her hips, holding her steady as he took over, driving up into her with short, sharp thrusts that left her gasping and biting down on the smooth skin of his shoulder to try to muffle cries that were on the verge of becoming shrieks.

Small orgasms shuddered through her as he continued his assault, his hands shifting to cup her ass and urge her to move on him, harder, faster…

And then he stopped.

Hands firm on her hips, holding her so still, she could feel every small tremor and twitch of him deep within her.

Gasping, heart thudding against her chest, sweat trickling from the base of her neck to tease her cleavage, she stared at him. "_Carlton_—" And couldn't even be bothered by how absolutely desperate she sounded. She was just so damned close and he'd _stopped_, damn him.

Blue eyes huge and dark with desire, he stared up at her. Slowly, one hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her mouth before dropping to her breast, shaping and molding it within his palm before stilling once more, as if feeling how her heart beat—for him. For them.

"I love you, Karen."

He shifted beneath her, a slow, gentle thrust.

"I love you," he repeated, his voice low and familiar—overlaid with a poignant note of something new.

Another thrust, a little deeper, a little more intense, that left stars swimming before her vision.

"I loved you twenty-five years ago."

Another thrust, up into her willing body as she gasped and clutched at his biceps, feeling in his muscles the same tension holding her hostage on the precipice.

"I love you now."

The thrusts took on a slow, deliberate rhythm that invited her to move, point and counterpoint, their bodies meeting with a deep, sweet ache as she braced her hands on his chest, the hair rough and damp against her palms. Yet another layer to the sensual onslaught that making love with this man had always been.

"I never completely stopped loving you."

His hands rose to span her bare back, those long, dexterous fingers curling over her shoulders as he pushed her down on him, maintaining control even as he drove her completely and utterly mad.

"I will _never_ stop loving you, Karen."

Control lost out as she fought free of his hold and began moving on him, fast and hard, head thrown back, his voice penetrating the sensual fog—sweet, erotic words encouraging her to let go, he'd catch her, he'd always be there for her, he'd never ever leave her again. And as he thrust up into her one final time, shattering the last of her defenses, Karen heard him whisper the sweetest word—

_Forever_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**AN:** Yep, a bit more **M** in these here words. They've got a lot to make up for. Happy New Year, all!

* * *

They hadn't been each other's firsts—but they'd been the first who'd mattered.

For Carlton, Karen had been the first woman with whom he'd literally slept—sharing a bed for more than just an hour or two. They'd been crazy lucky that her roommate had a boyfriend with an apartment where she spent the majority of her time that semester, granting them privacy they wouldn't have otherwise enjoyed, since _his_ house was completely out of the question.

Those nights—tangled together on her dorm-issue twin bed, her head resting on his shoulder, an arm or a leg draped possessively over him—had been, in a word, amazing. She was a burrower, his Karen was—always nuzzling, touching, seeking to hold him closer and trying, as she often said, to crawl into him—not that he had any complaints. She was so unbelievably warm, giving off waves of heat he naturally gravitated toward. Sharing a bed with her, surrounded by that all-encompassing warmth, Carlton experienced for the first time the absence of the perpetual chill he'd lived with the majority of his life.

A chill that had returned with a vengeance after he left her.

"You're thinking so hard, you're practically vibrating." The mumbled words were accompanied by one of her patented burrows, her nose nuzzling against his neck as her hand patted his chest before dropping to rest on his hip.

"Sorry."

"S'okay." She laughed softly. "Sleep's for wusses anyway."

Her breath was warm on his neck, making him shiver even as he laughed and gathered her more closely against him, needing her heat. Hell, just needing _her_. They'd dozed in fits and starts in between bouts of learning each other all over again—their energy barely waning as they'd mapped the terrain of each other's bodies with devastating thoroughness—rediscovering what had brought them so much pleasure in the past while discovering all the new ways they could enjoy each other. And still, Carlton suspected, they'd barely scratched the surface.

Karen at nineteen had been curious and energetic, their sex life a passion-fueled source of endless discovery. As a woman in her forties, though? Carlton felt his gut clench. Karen in her forties was a powerful, sensual lover, direct about communicating what she wanted—both done to her and to do to him—and completely fearless with respect to baring her emotions. With every touch, every shared gaze, every murmured endearment, she communicated how much she wanted him.

How much she _loved_ him.

A smooth thigh inserted itself between his as she arched, her breasts a soft cushion against his side but for the hard points of her nipples. And she thought he was vibrating before?

"So what has you thinking so hard?"

He grinned. "It's not the thinking that's hard right now."

"Carlton," she scolded with a playful nip to the juncture where neck and shoulder met that left him more than a little flushed. Maybe it simply wasn't her heat—maybe it was the heat they generated together.

He shifted to his side, keeping one hand firm at the small of her back. Head comfortably propped on his arm, he lay there and simply enjoyed _looking. _Dark-blonde hair haloing her beautiful face on the pillow, dark eyes drowsy and luminous against skin flushed with a delicate rose tint that darkened around her full, perfect mouth. It took a second for him to realize that slightly reddened skin had come from him—his heavy beard shadow abrading that soft, sensitive skin during endless kisses that also left that lush mouth swollen and so damned tempting, he couldn't help but lean in and kiss it again.

And again.

Kisses that left her sighing and arching against him, her breasts brushing his chest as her thigh shifted from between his to hook over his hip and draw him even closer.

Nuzzling the skin by her ear, he murmured, "What I was thinking is that you are the warmest person I have ever known in my life."

She went absolutely still and a shiver that had nothing to do with the heat and passion between them shuddered through Carlton.

"Karen?"

"It's nothing." She stroked his arm, but for the first time, it didn't feel right.

"Bullshit."

"Carlton, please—it's stupid."

"Bullshit," he repeated, drawing back to study her face. She was so damned good at hiding what she was thinking, but whatever had rendered her so still, it was obvious, it hurt. Energy surged through him and his palms practically itched to take up arms and slay the hell out of whatever it was that was hurting his Karen.

"Warmer than Barbara?" Her voice was so low, it took a few seconds for the words to penetrate.

He reared back further, his eyebrows feeling as if they were hovering somewhere hear his hairline. "Excuse me?"

She turned her head toward the balcony. The pearl gray of incoming dawn limned her profile with a soft glow and highlighted the sad resignation etched on her features. "It's okay, Carlton, she told me—well, more implied, really—that you and she—"

"She lied."

Angrier than he could remember being in… hell, _ever_—and that was saying something—he rolled over onto her, ignoring her shocked gasp. Grasping both her wrists, he pinned them up above her head—just in case she had any idea of trying to make a break for it or anything as equally stupid as believing that he would have… could have ever—

"She _lied_," he repeated. "Jesus, Karen, I could never have slept with your sister. How could you even think—"

She struggled briefly, her eyes shooting dark fire up at him. Good thing he had her pinned—it was entirely possible one of those smooth, strong thighs might have made deliberate—and painful—contact with his groin.

"With what we see every day as part of our jobs, the behavior that drives people to do the things they do, is it so unreasonable to imagine it was possible?"

"When it comes to this, yes."

"Not with the way you were panting after her."

"I wasn't panting—" Okay, yeah… he sort of had been, but not really. Not the way she thought. "Hell, Karen—you get desperate enough, even light beer starts looking damned appealing."

Now it was her eyebrows that climbed, delicate lines etched across her smooth forehead. "_What_?"

"Bad analogy." A deep flush crept all the way from his chest up his neck and straight to the tips of his ears. "It'd been a bad year. " A bitter chuckle escaped. "Decade. Lifetime, really." He sighed, the hold on her wrists gentling until he was stroking the soft skin. "Victoria leaving, Spencer poking his nose into every damned part of my life, exposing my relationship with Lucinda, you transferring her out—I'd just had that case where I dealt with my ex-father-in-law and I was even angrier at the world than usual. With the exception of Victoria leaving, it seemed I could lay the blame for most of it at your feet, so if I could annoy you by showing interest in Barbara, then it seemed only fair."

And stupid. And mean-spirited. Even if he'd been convinced she didn't give a crap about him, personally, he'd been damned well aware that showing preference for Barbara would only serve to further fuel their always heated rivalry.

"It was a rat bastard move. With rare exception, pretty much all I was capable of at the time."

She grimaced, but he had the distinct impression it was directed more inward than as a reaction to his self-deprecation. "It was half my fault, warning her against you. If I hadn't, she might not have ever followed through with her idea of asking you out."

"You warned her against me?"

A half-smiled tugged at one corner of her mouth, a tiny crescent appearing that he couldn't help but kiss.

"Yeah," she breathed, her hand caressing his cheek. "I did."

"Why?"

Her smile broadened, the crescent's twin appearing and prompting another kiss. "I told Barb it was because you were too tightly wound and essentially bad news, but truth was, while I may have been convinced I didn't want you, I was damned if _she_ could have you."

Well, _hell_. Okay, he was a guy. A healthy, red-blooded American male with more than his fair share of ego, even if with respect to women, it hadn't always been so. To know that two sisters, one with whom he'd been in love for more than half his life, had argued over him like he was the prize at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jacks? A _good_ prize—the kind they used to have back before they went all cheap? He allowed himself a brief moment of mental strutting even as he admitted, "Never even a chance. Barely lasted past lunch."

Her sigh left her soft and pliant in his arms. "She knew there was something between us, though."

"No she didn't." Of that, he was absolutely certain.

"She sort of did." One slender shoulder rose. Unable to help himself, he dropped yet another kiss to the soft, creamy slope. "Claimed the reason I was warning her against you was because I wanted you for myself. If she'd only known the extent of it…" She sighed again and her lids lowered, an obvious attempt at shielding her emotions. Her voice betrayed her, however, low and hesitant as she asked, "So you never said anything—"

He emphatically shook his head. "No way, sweetheart. It was pretty clear she had no idea. She would've been crowing within five seconds about her 'victory' over you if she knew. And I knew damned well if she found out, she'd never let you forget it. I may have been an angry rat bastard, but there's nothing that could ever make me betray you—betray _us_—in that way. Especially to her."

She stared up at him, her gaze dark and filled with unmistakable wonder. "Thank you," she said, her voice husky, and there was something about the simple, sweet purity of those words that left him understanding it went much deeper. That somehow, his confession served as just another way in which he'd proved to her how he much he'd always cared. Even when he would have sworn otherwise.

"You're welcome." Lowering his head, he met her halfway, their mouths touching in an unbearably sweet kiss. But before he could deepen the caress, return to the pleasurable build of desire in which they'd been engaged, he felt her draw back.

"What?"

She pressed her lips together as if deliberating, before releasing a deep breath. "I didn't transfer Lucinda out."

"What?" He pushed himself up to better look down into her face. "Of course you did. You had to."

Karen slowly shook her head, looking like a debauched cream-and-gold angel and while Carlton wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her once again, he also instinctively understood that like her sister, this was another situation that had created tension between them and that needed to be clarified. No more secrets. They'd caused too much damage between them.

"It's a situational call. Mind you, I did have every intention of giving her a new partner or more likely moving her to another division. Transferring her out would have served no one's interests except maybe… well, mine." A smile he could only describe as sheepish briefly crossed her face. "You had already developed her into a very good detective, Carlton—a real asset to the force. So I decided to put the fact that I wanted to rip her eyes out down to irrational pregnancy hormones and made up my mind to act like a professional so no, I wasn't going to transfer her out."

She caressed his shoulders with gentle, soothing strokes. "It just so happened at the time your relationship was… revealed, she'd just been accepted into the U.S. Marshals. She was already planning on leaving." As her dark gaze studied him intently Carlton held himself still, making no effort to hide. "She never told you."

He shook his head. "I assumed you transferred her out because of the affair. She never said a word otherwise."

"There's a lot of discretion and non-disclosure involved with the Marshals. Your assumption made it easier for her." Her hands continued stroking, an obvious hint of urgency in her touch as if trying to keep him anchored to her. She didn't have to worry. He had no desire to go anywhere.

"Probably." With a sigh he eased himself down, blanketing her body with his, knowing she'd accept his weight. Without thinking he said, "You're the only one who's never left me."

"I never will, baby."

As her arms wrapped around him, he felt as if iron bands too-long wrapped around his chest were loosening, allowing him to breathe. She'd never leave. And he _believed_ her.

They lay there as the full light of morning slowly flooded the room, awash in brilliant sunshine and endless blue skies. Carlton breathed deep of the two of them, knowing he'd never get enough, while Karen"s slender fingers stroked through his hair in a hypnotic rhythm.

"You are aware, right, if you ever leave me again, I _will_ hunt you down like a dog?"

A chill rushed through him, not at the thought of being hunted down, which he'd richly deserve if he was ever so idiotic, but at the thought of _ever_ making such a mistake again.

He lifted himself far enough to meet her gaze. "I may be an anti-social rat bastard, I may be capable of committing exceptionally stupid acts, I may be neurotic as hell, and I definitely say the wrong thing ninety percent of the time, but I'm not so stupid as to make _that_ mistake twice."

She smiled, her face lighting up in such a way it put the glorious morning to shame. "Good." Both warm hands rose to frame his face and draw it down to hers. Mouth against his, tongue teasing his lips, she repeated, "Good." Amidst a series of devastatingly gentle kisses she said it again and again—_Good… so good… so, so good, Carlton…_—her tone changing with each kiss, each caress, as he deepened the kisses, his hands wandering across every inch of skin he could reach. Stretching to tease the sensitive backs of her knees, up along her thighs and over the gentle swell of her hips to rest briefly in the curve of her waist, the tips of his fingers tracing the distinctive texture of the skin there.

The night before, she'd been self-conscious as he'd done nothing but look his fill, taking in all the changes twenty-five years had wrought. The most obvious of those, of course, were the changes brought about by pregnancy—the added fullness to her breasts and the faint, vertical scars scattered across her abdomen. _Battle scars_, she'd called them with an embarrassed laugh. He couldn't disagree—he'd _been_ there. He'd watched, terrified, as she fought harder than anyone he'd ever seen fight, to bring the source of those marks into the world.

She meant it as a joke. He didn't.

Besides, he didn't see them as scars so much as brush strokes—delicate and silvery and adding to the lush landscape of her body. Even cloaked by the safety of the night and the strength of their love, he'd nevertheless blushed fiercely as he'd whispered his confession, afraid she'd laugh or God forbid, be offended, but she'd shocked him by crying. Just shedding a tear or two as she'd thrown herself over him and proceeded to tell him—in exquisite detail—everything she loved about his body, making him blush all over again. Then he'd flushed with a different heat altogether as she'd _shown_ him—in exquisite detail—everything she loved.

His turn. Again.

Sliding down her body, he briefly nuzzled her breasts, teasing each nipple to a hard point as she sighed and arched into his touch. Replacing his mouth with his hands, he lowered his head to her abdomen where he proceeded to reverently trace every single one of those marks with his tongue, groaning against her skin. Karen was simply a feast he'd never tire of—sweet and smooth, a hint of salt emerging as a sheen of sweat glazed her skin, earthy and pure and _everything_ he'd ever wanted.

Soon, however, even that wasn't enough—for either of them—as her fingers sank into his hair and she gently pushed. Unwilling to deny her—or himself, for that matter—Carlton complied, his mouth trailing from the delicate jut of one hipbone to the shadowy cleft between her thighs. A deeper more primal groan escaped him as he worked her over, tasted her, marveled at how obvious her want for him was. The more intent his ministrations, the more she cried and writhed beneath him until he growled and held her firm, one hand at her hip, the other secure on her stomach, masculine pride rising at the feel of her muscles twitching and fluttering beneath his touch.

She was so close to completely losing control—this strong, tough woman who so rarely lost control—and it was at his hands. And his mouth. And his—

Surging up her body, he sank into her, muffling her shocked cry of pleasure with his kiss, wet and hot with her. He drove his tongue into her mouth in the same ruthless rhythm with which he drove his body into hers, his breath trapped in his chest at the powerful grab of her muscles around him as her orgasm overtook her. Throwing his head back, he fought to hold his climax back, reluctant to bring this intensely erotic encounter to an end, even with the sure knowledge that this moment would be but one of many.

"_More_—"

He stared down at her, hair tumbled around her flushed face, her eyes wide and glowing with a dark intent—his debauched angel, demanding, "_More—_" as her fingernails trailed fire down his back to his ass where she grabbed on and pulled him to her. Her pelvis ground against his in hard circles as she threw her head back, another climax shuddering through her, even as she cried in a hoarse voice, "_More—_" and finally, he understood.

Rearing back onto his knees, he tugged her upright and held her impossibly tight and close as he gave her everything she wanted—everything he had.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

"So what now?"

Karen poked her head through the neck of her shirt to find Carlton standing by the balcony table where the waiter had deposited the coffee and fruit they'd ordered. Frankly, after their overnight exertions, she could eat a damned house, but they would be joining her mother and Iris at Beach Stax for a proper, carb-and-protein loaded breakfast, so coffee and fruit would have to do. Mostly coffee.

"What now better be that you're fixing me a cup of coffee. Like, post-haste." She reached for his abandoned button-down from the night before and drew it on over her shirt and worn jeans, rolling up the cuffs before tying the tails at her waist. The night before, she'd had the good sense to prepare an overnight bag that she'd grabbed on her way out the door—good thing, since he'd destroyed her underwear and her sundress was missing a few buttons on the bodice—so she was at least decently outfitted, but still, nothing felt quite as good as having something he'd worn wrapped around her.

It was possible she had an addiction.

Multiple ones, as she longingly eyed the mug into which Carlton poured steaming dark brew. As well as the long, graceful hands handling the mug and carafe. Attached to the strong arms and shoulders and leading to the face and the eyes and the soft waves of black and silver hair…

"Keep looking at me like that and not only will you not get coffee, you may miss breakfast altogether."

Her stomach growled audibly at the mention of breakfast, making her ruthlessly shove her libido to the background. Not without effort, because standing in the sunlight, his eyes reflecting the sky and ocean?

She couldn't help but wonder if food wasn't for wusses either but no, dammit—even if they had years of want to make up for, they at least now had the _time_.

With a sigh that combined wistfulness with satisfaction, she stepped onto the balcony and accepted the mug he held out, but not before stretching up for a cinnamon-flavored kiss. Sinking into one of the chaise lounges—_the_ chaise lounge—she realized with a smug grin, she scooted to one side and patted the cushion, sighing again as Carlton eased down beside her,.

"I love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple and nuzzling her hair in a way that left her feeling both peaceful and unbearably excited. He loved her. He was with her. He _loved_ her.

"I love you, too, Carlton."

Snuggling in closer, she pressed a kiss to his jaw, relishing the bite of his stubble against her overly-sensitive lips, doubly glad she'd discouraged him from shaving this morning, despite his protests that everyone would _know _what they'd been up to. To which Karen had retorted that there was a hell of a lot more evidence beyond a day's worth of beard to prove what they'd been up to. The general air of exhaustion coupled with utter satiation for one. Not to mention the glow she suspected surrounded her like a halo, although there wasn't a damned pure thing about her thoughts. He'd laughed and tossed the shaving kit back in his go bag then proceeded to steer her into the shower and get up to more of that thing he'd been so worried everyone would know they'd been up to.

After another kiss, allowing her tongue out to taste and savoring the slight shiver she felt pass through him, she settled herself more comfortably, taking a deep, restorative sip of coffee.

"You never answered my question."

"Hm?" Drowsy and perfectly comfortable lying curved against him, she closed her eyes and lazily sipped her coffee.

"So what now?"

"From what standpoint?" Although she suspected she already knew. However, better to ask outright than make assumptions. That bad habit had gotten them both in a boatload of trouble. Trouble Karen wanted to avoid at all costs.

His fingers playing through her hair in a soothing caress, he said, "From the standpoint of, if it was up to me, we'd go to the nearest courthouse tomorrow morning and make it legal all over again, but that's what the freedom of being nineteen allows."

"I know."

"Or the freedom of being forty-four and a lonely, embittered pain in the ass."

"Stop it," she warned, sitting up and leveling a glare that left him visibly squirming.

Good.

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"Well you can start breaking it right now. I won't stand for it." She sorely wanted to smack him upside the head. She settled instead for cupping his cheek in her hand. "Besides, you're not lonely anymore. You are _not_ alone. Are we clear?"

"Roger that."

And if _he _kept looking at her like that, they'd definitely not make breakfast. Or lunch. Quite possibly not dinner either.

"However, you're also right about it not being just about us anymore." She cupped her mug in both hands and stared down into the khaki depths as if searching for answers. "As much as I can tell Iris is going to love having you in her life, she's still going to need time to adjust. " She glanced up in time to see his front teeth digging into his lower lip—a sure sign of stress.

"And so are you," she added with a smile and a gentle pat to his thigh. "But you'll be fine."

"I hope so." His teeth continued worrying his lip until she finally reached out and tugged it free, soothing the reddened spot with a gentle kiss.

"What is it?"

"How is your ex going to take it?"

Karen paused, considering how best to answer and opting for a fairly direct, "He won't be crazy about it, nor will he be particularly shocked."

Sharp detective to the core, Carlton correctly interpreted her meaning. "He knows about me?"

"Not initially, but he guessed." At her pause, Carlton took both their mugs and placed them on the side table before pulling her back into the security of his embrace. Correctly sensing how much she needed him.

Her back to his chest and head comfortably nestled on his shoulder, she stared out past the balcony rail to the beach, her gaze following the path of a swallow-tail kite as it rose into the air, its colors sharp and bright against the endless blue of the sky. "Obviously, he knew I'd been married, but there was never any reason to tell him who. I did debate confessing it was you when I accepted the job transfer to Santa Barbara, and then again when I was promoted to Chief, but there honestly didn't seem to be much point. It was clear you despised me—"

"I _never_ despised you," he broke in, his arms tightening around her.

"You gave a pretty good impression of it. At least at first." Covering his hands with hers, she played her fingers along the graceful length of his. "Not that it mattered, since I was bound and determined to not allow any aspect of my personal life—past or present—to affect my professional life."

She sighed. "Truth is, I'd so successfully compartmentalized my life, I wasn't really fully living it." Slipping her hands beneath his, she turned them so she could lace their fingers together. "Truth is," she confessed softly, "I was so terrified, I refused to allow myself to fully experience any emotion—including love. I just didn't want to hurt that bad ever again. Then Iris was born and all those walls crashed down in the span of a single heartbeat."

Karen tilted her head back against his shoulder and found him gazing down at her, his eyes the same pale, crystal blue as when he'd held Iris for those few precious moments.

"And there you were."

"Oh God." Carlton closed his eyes for a brief moment; when he opened them the blue was clouded with a troubled gray. "Is that when he guessed?"

She shook her head. "That's just when I started—I don't know… _feeling_ again. Which ironically made our marriage really great for the next couple of years. But it also had the result of making me more aware of you. It wasn't until after Old Sonora that he actually started suspecting."

"What the hell—Old Sonora?" He shifted so they were on their sides facing each other. "Why?"

"Why?" Annoyed, Karen pushed at his chest. "_Why_?" she repeated with another shove that was more of a thump. "Good Lord, Carlton, you were face to face with a murderer."

"Hardly the first time."

Now she thumped him in earnest, her heart pounding much like it had watching the near-deadly Wild West showdown that had had the idiot tourists gaping avidly, thinking it nothing more than harmless entertainment, devised for their amusement. And they'd had the nerve to _boo_ Carlton after he'd taken down "Stinky Pete," never realizing what he might have just saved them from. Ungrateful bastards.

"It was the first time _I_ ever saw you face to face with a murderer, you idiot. Pete Dillingham was desperate and a crack shot—a dangerous combination."

Carlton snorted in such a typically Carlton way, she was half-relieved and half-tempted to clock him upside the head_._

With a crowbar.

"Not even in the same league, sweetheart."

In spite of herself, she laughed, even as she thumped him once more—far more gently. "God, you're a cocky son of a bitch."

A grin that could only be deemed a _leer_ crossed his face ."Well, _cocky_ for sure." One hand dropped to her backside and pulled her lower half tight against his, an unmistakable stirring evident even though his khakis and her jeans. An instant later his hold gentled as his hand sought and found hers. "You were scared for me?"

"God, yes." She tightened her grip, reassured by the rough texture of the callouses on his palm and fingers. Last night, she'd shivered at the feel of those callouses against her skin—this morning, she shivered anew, grateful for the hours spent at the gun range that had produced them. "Then a couple of weeks later, Salamatchia came after you and… and—" A deep breath shuddered through her. "And that was the beginning of the end."

She focused on one of the buttons of his blue-and-white plaid button-down, seeing the translucent white disc as a screen against which a montage of scenes played: Carlton's hand hovering over his weapon, eyes narrowing as he faced Pete Dillingham and possible injury or worse; the sheer fury and determination evident in every line of his body as he informed her he was going after his partner, protocol be damned. The many, _many_ moments in which he'd annoyed her, challenged her, infuriated her, terrified her—even made her laugh.

The growing suspicion in her husband's eyes as she complained about Carlton—how he annoyed her, challenged her, infuriated her, the danger he kept putting himself in. She saw again the many moments of tension that made Iris the only reason she had to not work late every night—that prompted her to start rebuilding those emotional defenses, but only at home and only with him and even so, realizing that the withdrawal didn't hurt anywhere near as much as losing Carlton had. That it didn't hurt _anywhere_ near as much as the moment she realized Carlton had fallen in love with Marlowe.

By then, her marriage was over, her husband having long since confronted her, asking if Carlton was her first husband. Having been expecting the question for some time, she'd been able to answer with reasonable calm that yes, he was. She'd also been able to deny with reasonable calm that anything was currently going on between them and if he harbored the idea he might uncover evidence of any such involvement he might as well give it up, because, he'd come up empty. There simply _wasn't_ anything. Whatever feelings she wrestled with were her own and simply vestiges of what they'd once had.

She'd thought.

His voice was soft, the words hesitant. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You left. I had no reason to think you wanted me. That you'd give a damn I worried for you." She continued staring at that damned button, the first one fastened on his shirt, the fabric above parted, revealing dark hair that beckoned her to rest her forehead on his chest. "Why didn't you?" she asked, her voice muffled by smooth cotton and warm skin.

Beneath her cheek, his chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "I didn't think I had any right to." His arms closed around her, a safe haven. A moment later, his fingers brushed her jaw, gently urging her face up. Closing her eyes, she met his kiss with a sigh, relieved to finally be home after so many years spent lost.

At first his kisses were gentle, soothing, then as they went on, took on urgency and intent and Karen couldn't help but feel… _possessed_. Then they changed yet again, slowing and gentling yet no less possessive. Finally, with a sigh, he drew back, his forehead resting against hers.

"So your ex isn't going to like it." Easing back further, his front teeth emerged for a brief moment to worry his lower lip. Then he tensed, as if squaring his shoulders. "Which leaves your father."

As Karen's breath caught in her throat, Carlton pressed on. "Let me make it clear, I don't give a flying monkey's ass what he thinks about me, but I will not allow him to make you or God forbid, Iris miserable and whatever I need to say to convince him—"

"Carlton."

He paused, holding himself perfectly still. The longer she stayed quiet, however, attempting to gather her thoughts, the more that watchful blue gaze sharpened, the instinct and curiosity that drove him to excel as a detective clearly throwing up all manner of red flags, but still, he held his impatience in check, waiting.

Finally she said, "My father's not going to be a problem."

"Your mother said something similar." His brows lowered and drew together into the dark frown that had driven her mad on far too many occasions. But in this case, she supposed he was entitled. Especially if Mom had intimated Dad wouldn't be an issue. "Karen, what the hell's going on?" An instant later, his expression shifted. "Oh Jesus, is he um… is he—"

She shook her head. "No, baby—he's not dead. Nor are he and Mom divorced."

The line reemerged between his brows. "I am _so_ confused."

"I'm sorry." She smiled faintly. "Look, why don't we go ahead and go and I'll explain on the way."

Surprisingly, he relaxed, dropping a kiss to her forehead with a murmured, "Okay," before rising from the chaise and offering her a hand up. Karen stared , stunned, having expected if not an argument, than at least a bit more of an interrogation. It took until they were in his car, with her behind the wheel, because she said there was somewhere she wanted to stop first, for her to realize his easy acceptance was because he… trusted her.

Once upon a time, he'd trusted her and while she'd known how difficult it was for him, she hadn't recognized it for the gift it was. There was no possible way she could have. Now, after so many years of knowing Detective Lassiter—hardened, paranoid, suspicious, and incredibly distrustful, _especially_ of people—realizing he could put such complete and unquestioning trust in her was a gift.

One almost more precious than anything—other than his love.

Good thing it ran both ways.

* * *

She knew he'd made the connection as soon as they drove through the stucco and arched wrought iron gates, but it was clear the full magnitude didn't truly register until they were face to face with her father, a genuinely pleased smile wreathing his face as they approached where he sat in a sunny garden spot overlooking the ocean.

"Karen! I didn't expect to see you today."

She exhaled a relieved sigh. Looked like it was a good day.

Leaning down, she dropped a kiss to his cheek, his skin like warm parchment against her lips. "Hi, Dad. I found myself with some unexpected time and decided to drop by for a quick visit."

His smile broadened. "Well, I can't say I'm not delighted, because of course I am." The smile faded as he hit her with a typically direct brown gaze. "So long as your grades aren't suffering." He patted her arm with a strong hand that only trembled slightly. And that was the bitch of it, wasn't it?

Aside from a slight stoop to his shoulders and back and a smattering of age spots across hands and face, he sat before her, a vibrant picture of health. Except for his memory, failing more with each passing month. It was a rare occasion now when he actually recognized Karen as a woman in her forties, more often than not speaking as if she was still in high school or college. She knew it was only a matter of time, sooner likelier than later, before he failed to recognize her at all. This was why she'd made the snap decision to take this detour and bring Carlton by. It was possible his appearance might upset her father, but she was hoping he wouldn't be able to recall having met him before. And angry as she was with her father's actions—with what he'd done—Carlton was the man she loved. And it was to _him_ she owed this one final meeting.

"My grades are fine, Dad," she reassured him. "Better than fine." Taking the seat beside his, she leaned forward. "Actually, I did have a reason for coming down this weekend." She extended her hand toward Carlton who stood just past the seating area's perimeter. Without hesitation, he took it, holding tight as he stepped forward alongside her chair.

"Dad, I'd like to introduce you to Carlton Lassiter."

Again, she felt herself hit with that direct brown gaze, before it shifted to take Carlton's measure. In that moment Karen felt herself caught in a time warp, feeling Carlton's hand trembling in hers yet he stood straight and tall beneath her father's intense scrutiny, never once flinching. Always so strong and brave, sometimes to the point of stupidity.

But he was getting better. She hoped.

"I take it you two go to school together?"

After a quick glance down—waiting for her nod—he replied easily, "Yes, sir."

Dad's eyes narrowed. "And you're involved."

Before Karen could speak up, Carlton answered, "Yes, sir." After another glance down, his gaze warm and steady, he turned back to her father and added, "Actually, sir, I'm in love with Karen."

A thin, snow-white eyebrow rose. "You'd be a damned fool not to be."

Carlton's hold tightened briefly before he shifted his hand to lace their fingers together. "I can be accused of being a lot of things, Mr. Dunlap, most of them pretty unflattering, but I can assure you, where Karen's concerned, last thing I am is a damned fool."

Karen's jaw dropped as a hoarse bark escaped her father. "You're a bit of a smartass, aren't you? I'll bet Karen likes that about you."

Carlton grinned. "When it's not driving her nuts."

Karen felt herself flush as she was trapped beneath two stares—one deep brown and assessing, the other a steady, brilliant blue.

"So…" Her father's gaze clouded.

"Carlton," Karen gently inserted.

"Of course—Carlton." Relief flashed briefly before he suppressed it beneath the impassive yet somehow still-friendly mask she'd seen take down witnesses time and again over the years. "You'll have to forgive me. Been working a big case. A lot of details. The sort of thing where I almost forget my own name."

"Understood." Carlton took the seat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders, as if understanding how that casual statement just about took her knees out from under her.

"So…" After another brief struggle he settled for, "Young man, what is it you're studying?"

"Criminology, sir."

Her father brightened. "Oh? Any interest in law school?"

"No, sir. I'm looking more to work on the front lines. I'm going to go to the Police Academy after I graduate. Then I intend to get my Master's while I work toward becoming a detective." His glance slid toward Karen as he added. "With any luck, maybe some day I'll even become a head detective."

"Screw luck." Her father pointed an approving finger at Carlton. "That's ambition supported by a well-thought out plan and what's clearly a strong work ethic. I have no doubt you'll achieve all your goals and then some."

Oh, _God_. It was what she'd wanted—that first time. "He absolutely will, Dad," she said, emotion making the words emerge thin and tremulous. "He's so smart and works so hard."

He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his gaze to her once more. "Sounds familiar, too."

"It is." Looking at Carlton, seeing once again the young, driven boy beneath the patina of the man, she said, "Carlton and I, Dad—our dreams and ambitions are exactly the same. And… we intend to work toward them together." She barely dared to breathe, not sure how he'd greet that declaration. It was one thing for him to react favorably to Carlton, but now they were talking about _her_ dream. And how it had clashed with his dreams for her. There was never any rhyme or reason to the memories or what might trigger their sudden return—or disappearance. Of course, it was equally possible he could blink and wonder why his grown middle-aged daughter was sitting there with a strange man.

"Except I fully expect Karen to become Chief of Police."

Another bark of laughter escaped her father, allowing Karen to breathe a bit easier.

"Not intimidated by a woman potentially holding a position of authority over you?"

Carlton's arm tightened around her. "My strengths are better suited to the field while I think Karen's particular gifts would make her a far better Chief than I could ever be."

Karen felt tears prick the backs of her eyes at Carlton's unhesitating admission. She knew he'd long ago made peace with losing the job he'd once so coveted—even that he'd lost it to her—but this acknowledgment was tantamount to a declaration of love. On a different level, maybe, but no less sweet and meaningful.

"Takes a strong man to make an admission like that."

Karen leaned forward and rested her hand on her father's knee. With Carlton's hand secure and warm on her back she said, "He's the strongest man I know, Daddy. It's why I love him so much."

He smiled—exactly the way she'd so wanted him to smile twenty-five years earlier. A smile that spoke of approval, that communicated _acceptance_ for her and for Carlton—for the two of them _together_—as he put a hand on her head. "Been a long time since you called me Daddy. Nice to hear it again."

He blinked slowly as if waking from a dream. "But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?" He sat back and cocked his head. "Carlton—feels as if it's been an age since I last saw you. How's the job treating you? My girl's not being too much of a hardass, is she?"

The only indication Karen had that Carlton was startled by her father's sudden shift was a slight jerk of his hand on her back. Otherwise, his demeanor remained unchanged as he replied, "No more so than usual, sir." With a wink and a suggestive grin that left her feeling more than a little giddy and lightheaded, he added, "Nothing I can't handle."

His gaze following their silent exchange, Dad smiled and shook his head. "You always were a smartass. Good thing Karen likes that so much about you—otherwise it might make being married and working together real hell. But you two have always managed to make it work."

Karen struggled to keep a neutral smile pasted on her face at her father's matter-of-fact words—as if it was nothing more than the reality they'd all been living with for twenty-five years. Dad's doctor had long since explained the disease was like origami—the memories folding and unfolding in such a way that some recollections intersected with others in ways they never had before. Creating new and intricate shapes. Like a reality in which she and Carlton had remained together for the past twenty-five years.

Carlton's hand settled on the back of her neck, gently urging her to face him. In his gaze, so blue and open in a way it so rarely was in the outside world, she read the steady reassurance on which she'd so often relied over the last seven years laced with the same deep regret she felt over all the years taken from them.

And something more.

The lost years? They'd never get those back. But on the other hand, thanks to the shared ambition that had driven them both so powerfully and maybe more than a little stupid luck, they'd also had several unexpected years together—grown to know each other—in ways they never would have otherwise.

End result? Well… much as she'd loved the boy Carlton, she had to admit she might— maybe…_possibly_—love the man Carlton had become even more. The likelihood he would have grown into that man had they remained together?

A prediction even the Mayans on their best day wouldn't be able to swing. Not that they had great luck with such things anyway. And for the first time—she was okay with that. Not with the Mayans. She could give a rat's ass about them and their Oreo calendars. No… for the first time she could honestly say she was okay with her life and Carlton's life and the twists and turns they'd taken.

So long as she got to love the man Carlton was now and share the rest of her life seeing who they'd become together, she was okay with all of it. Even the damned Mayans.

"Dad," she said gently. "We need to get on home now."

"Okay." He blinked owlishly, any recognition having completely faded. "You take care," he added vaguely. He looked between her and Carlton, brows drawn together, the gears of that once powerful brain clearly struggling to work, his mouth thinning.

Gathering himself, he sat up straighter, drawing a cloak of authority around himself as he addressed Carlton. "You make sure to take care of her," he said brusquely, smart enough to recognize they were together—that Karen was someone of importance to both of them, even if he couldn't quite place why or how.

Carlton stood and slowly extended his hand, waiting for her father to take it in his then very carefully covered it with his other hand, his strong and capable, enclosing her father's more visibly fragile one.

"I will, sir." He turned his head to meet her gaze, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre that wrapped around her with the strength and security of an embrace.

"Until the day I die."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**AN:** I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but I think there should maybe be an epilogue. Perhaps. Possibly.

* * *

"You know, if I'd been of a frame of mind to see it, what happened at Old Sonora would have made everything so obvious."

Carlton turned his head to meet Karen's gaze. She sat beside him on her mother's sofa, one hand lazily playing through his hair and teasing the back of his neck , the other resting on a sleeping Iris' back where she lay sprawled across both their laps, exhausted by a full day at the beach, showing him everything she loved. He'd hunted for seashells, explored tide pools where he'd been introduced to a vast world of unique sea creatures—some of which might even serve good purpose in frightening Spencer—and had observed a vocal colony of harbor seals and sea lions he was absolutely certain were mocking his fair Irish skin, recognizing it for the bizarre anomaly amongst native Californians that it was. Freckles he hadn't seen in thirty years had popped out across his windburned nose and cheekbones, he'd gotten the legs of his once pristine and sharply-creased khakis well and thoroughly splashed, and it was a very real possibility he'd never get all the sand out of the Fusion.

All in all, close to the most perfect day he'd ever experienced in his entire life.

"Everything about what?"

"About what happened with Dad." A wistful half-smile turned up the corner of her mouth.

He drew his brows together, failing to decipher her logic. "How do you figure?"

"As hard as you fought to save Old Sonora, when it looked like Hank might be the perp, you unhesitatingly made the hard choice despite what it cost you." Her thumb trailed a deliberate line along his jaw. "I watched you confront Hank, Carlton—examining his weapon and looking like your world had just come crumbling down around you, yet you never once wavered from doing what you thought was right."

Carlton's chest tightened at the memory—the intense disappointment and faint scorn etched across Hank's weathered face as he abdicated the duties of cuffing to O'Hara. The sick resolve he'd experienced as he walked away, the Colt with which he'd first learned to shoot weighing heavily in his hand. But he'd _had_ to—had been so damned certain he was doing the right thing because the evidence was clear and _there_, dammit.

For the second time in his adult life he had abandoned all Hank had instilled in him—lessons on trusting his gut and his heart, on how instinct was the most reliable indicator a man possessed and he'd do well to pay it mind—had ruthlessly turned his back on all that had been offered to him out of love in support of what had appeared to be the truth of cold, hard fact and then the damned facts had gone and betrayed him. Exposed his greatest weakness.

_I told you it wasn't me, Binky, but you don't wanna listen no more_.

"I should have listened."

Her caress to his neck took on a soothing quality as if knowing he meant more than just Hank. "Words are easy, baby—and it's not your way to trust easy. You've been too deeply conditioned to rely on what appears to be tangible."

Carlton retrieved his wine from the end table and stared moodily into the pale gold depths, seeing again a young, desperate Karen, holding herself tight as she begged him to stay—to talk—to _believe_ how much she loved him.

"What more tangible proof did I ever need than you and Hank—the only two people who have loved me unconditionally and unquestionably more than anyone in the world—asking me to do nothing more than listen, yet when you both needed me most, I turned away."

"You did what you felt was right."

He drained his glass in one long swallow. "Don't forgive me for this, Karen."

Her lips teased the rim of his ear, her breath warm and sweet with wine and the chocolate pie they'd shared for dessert. "Too late."

"I don't know how you can."

"I'm sure I can find some hoary cliché to cover it." The obvious smile in her voice coaxed a reluctant one from him, although honestly, he didn't know how in the hell she could forgive him. Instinct, however, demanded he shut the hell up and accept it for the gift it was. Turning his head, he captured her mouth in an unbearably sweet kiss—one that would have deepened into more if not for Iris' restless stirring.

Karen drew back with a rueful smile. "Duty calls."

As she made to stand, Carlton put his hand on her shoulder. "Easier for me to get her." Carefully, he slid out from beneath Iris' legs and gathered her into his arms, his heart doing funny things as he felt her squirm slightly, her head burrowing into his shoulder as he adjusted her weight.

Karen smiled, her eyes dark and suspiciously bright. "Told you you'd be fine."

Reserve and the caution that warned such things were entirely too good for the likes of him had him quietly reminding her, "It's only one day," even as Iris sighed, her small hand splayed across his chest like a starfish.

"I know." She gently pushed Iris' hair from her face and dropped a kiss to her forehead, her own hair brushing Carlton's arm with the delicacy of a bird's feather. Lifting her head, she brushed her lips against his. "First of many."

Once again, instinct prodded him in the ass, urging him to embrace this as his new reality. That really, dumbass, it was _okay_—he was entitled to happiness as much as the next snarky, paranoid, socially awkward dolt.

After closing the door on a deeply sleeping Iris, Karen took his hand and silently led him down the hall to her room.

"I need to go," he protested, as she pushed the door closed.

"No you don't," she said, slipping a button free on his shirt and nuzzling his chest.

His head fell back against the door with a muffled thump. "Your mother—"

"Is out." She drew back and met his gaze with a cheeky grin. "With a gentleman friend with whom she's grown rather close. I suspect we won't see _her_ until tomorrow." She lowered her head back to her task.

"But work," he managed weakly as two more buttons came free, her mouth warm and soft on his skin.

"You barely slept last night, had a full day today, and even if you left right this second, which I have no intention of allowing to happen, you wouldn't get back to Santa Barbara until well past midnight. And what sort of Chief would I be if I neglected to look after the well being of my best detective?" Her breath blew in a damp trail across his chest as she opened his shirt wider, her teeth lightly scoring across first one nipple then the other, making him sink more fully against the door, his hands fisted in her hair. Whether to hold her there or try to stop her, he wasn't sure.

"I'm robot cop," he sighed as her tongue soothed the sting of each bite.

"You're mine," she murmured with conviction. "They can do without both of us for one more day."

At those words, Carlton managed to push her back slightly—not without effort, but at the same time, she'd given him the perfect opening—

"You're coming back then?"

She looked up, eyes wide and deep brown and without an ounce of guile. "Of course."

"But this morning at breakfast, your mother said…" He took a deep breath. "She said you'd mentioned maybe looking for a new position closer to here."

"My mother has a big mouth."

Carlton couldn't help but chuckle at the obvious consternation drawing her brows together into a near-unbroken light brown line. "I think maybe she was just making certain of my intentions."

Her expression relaxed enough for one of those perfect brows to rise. "Oh?"

He shrugged, "I told her wherever you went, I hoped you'd be willing to hire me."

"Oh." She stared at him, obvious wonder softening her features into those of the girl he'd known so long ago. "You'd leave Santa Barbara for me?"

Carlton held her hands against his chest. "In a heartbeat."

"That's it." With a decisive motion, she pulled her hands free, undid the final button and pushed his shirt from his shoulders. "You're not going anywhere." Reaching into his front pocket, she fished his cell phone out and handed it to him. "You'd better text O'Hara and let her know you won't be in until Tuesday."

With a laugh, he did as directed, then all laughter ceased as he turned off his phone and turned his attention to Karen. Slowly, he undressed her and lay her down on the bed, stroking and kissing every inch of her body, then laying back as she did the same to him before they came together. They made gentle, quiet love, allowing their bodies to simply _feel_. To luxuriate in the sensation of how perfectly they fit together and bask in the knowledge that this moment—_all_ the moments going forward—belonged to them.

Afterward, Carlton lay with Karen's head on his chest and meditatively stroked her hair and realized he wasn't simply happy—he was… content. Kind of an unheard of sensation for him.

"You said this morning you hadn't said anything in the wake of my divorce because you thought you had no right."

"Yeah."

"Does that mean _you_ were aware of me?"

He smiled at the hesitant shyness in her voice. In the dark it was so easy to forget all the years that had passed but, he realized, he didn't really want to. Karen Vick was different in many ways from Karen Dunlap, but no less alluring and desirable.

"How could I not be?"

"I don't mean just because I was your boss—"

"How could I not be?" he repeated, gently tugging on her hair. Responding to his request, she tilted her head back and met his mouth with hers. After a slow, thorough exploration, he eased back onto the pillows and settled her head against his chest once more.

Staring at the shadows cast by the moonlight streaming into the room he slowly said, "When Iris was a baby and you were searching for a nanny, you read me the riot act one morning about not having finished some reports in a timely fashion. Asked me if my other arm was in a sling."

"Oh, dear God, I was such a raging bitch," she groaned.

"Yeah, you were," he agreed, laughing as she smacked his chest—lightly, he noted. "But all I could think as I watched you root around, desperate for coffee, and wounded to the core that no one had made a new pot, was that I wished I could be a part of it. Be there, you know?"

"You are aware I very nearly ran my husband over in the driveway that week, right?"

"To be honest, it sounded kind of great." He shrugged, breathing deep at the weight of her leg thrown over his and increasing heat her body gave off as she burrowed closer. "Terrifying, but great."

And even though it was true he'd been increasingly aware of Karen from the moment she joined the SBPD, Carlton knew he hadn't really answered her question. The one she had really asked. Scrolling through memories accrued over the past seven years he found there actually was a moment—an unexpected moment—that had probably sealed his fate, even though he'd had no idea of it at the time.

"You went with me," he said abruptly, his gaze focused on the hulking shadow of the armoire in the corner.

"What?"

"When Yang took O'Hara and Abigail Lytar, you could have gone with Henry and Shawn. Junior did realize where Abigail was before we left and according to protocol, you _should_ have gone with them—but you went with me."

"I—"She momentarily stiffened, then relaxed. "I never considered otherwise. All I could think was if the worst happened—if we didn't get to Juliet in time—you'd be…" Her voice trailed off then resumed, low and steady. "I knew Shawn would have Henry if anything happened to Abigail, but you—" She sighed and continued. "I… I just couldn't leave you to potentially face that alone."

Carlton remembered how it had felt—holding O'Hara, shaking and sobbing as the sky had lightened around them, his own terror held at bay by the adrenaline that had kept him going. After the sobs had subsided and left her spent, he'd led her unresisting form down the long flights of stairs and to the street where she'd finally allowed herself to be examined by medical personnel.

The bustling of city workers anxious to fix the clock and the elevators, and the forensics teams anxious to comb the area for clues that would give them any lead on the sick son of a bitch who'd taken one of their own had given Carlton the cover necessary to duck into an alley where he'd sagged against the wall, his face buried in his hands. After he'd collected himself, he'd stepped back out into the staging area and found Karen waiting, looking every bit the Chief until one got to her eyes—huge and dark and filled with unmistakable worry.

For him.

"That was it," he admitted, capturing her hand in his and toying with her long, slender fingers. "My conscious mind kept you firmly in place as my boss, but there was a little corner that remained aware. That wanted you so bad, I could hardly sleep most nights which only pissed me off more. I was primed to make a huge mistake if only to prove I could move past you again—never realizing I'd never moved past you in the first place."

"Huh." In the dark, her voice was thoughtful. "I kind of feel as if I should apologize."

Before he could protest she was being ridiculous—_he_ was the asshat here—she rolled over onto him and pressed her fingertips to his lips, silencing him. At least verbally.

"But I'm not going to," she said. Her hands cupped his face. In the faint light she was a study of pale skin and dark eyes, of softness and an unmistakable strength that held him close, in all ways. "I can't. Because mistakes and hurt and twisting paths and... all of it, you and I, Carlton, are exactly where we're supposed to be. No doubts."

Carlton closed his eyes and held her close, feeling her heart beating in sync with his.

"No doubts," he echoed. "No hesitation. Ever again."


	15. New Beginnings

**New Beginnings...**

* * *

It was unlike any house in which either of them had lived. It wasn't the California Mission style of her childhood or the Craftsman in which she'd spent a large part of her marriage. It certainly bore no resemblance to the plain Jane ranch in which Carlton had grown up nor to the classic pre-war lines of the condo.

Really, it was a sort of unexpected house, as she'd remarked upon seeing it for the first time. An unassuming mid-century contemporary bungalow with a pumice-gray stucco and stacked granite exterior revealing a cozy interior, immaculately remodeled and boasting surprisingly expansive windows that bathed the rooms in warm, golden light. It had a pretty bedroom for Iris that Carlton had spent a weekend painting the specific shade of lavender she'd requested, a wood-paneled office the two of them shared, and a master bedroom decorated in pale blues and greens and set off with touches of dark brown that served as their refuge. The living room and kitchen were both favorite gathering spots for them, as was the lush garden, while a few blocks away lay one of the main draws to this house as far as Karen was concerned—the beach.

After their return from San Diego, they'd both put their places up for sale, expecting in a soft market it would take time, yet both places had wound up selling within a month, necessitating an accelerated home search. To add to the pressure, Carlton had been required to vacate his condo since the new owners had even upped their offer in order to take immediate possession, leaving him to bunk with Henry of all people, a situation that worked out remarkably well especially once Carlton paid for a high end alarm system and swore Henry to not give Shawn the codes until _after_ he moved out.

Karen _had_ suggested Carlton just go ahead and move in with her until they found a place of their own, but he'd adamantly refused, wanting to give Iris more time to get used to the idea of him in her life. Touched by his sensitivity and concern for her baby, she'd agreed, but only because he wasn't averse to staying over on the weekends Iris spent with her father and as time passed, more nights when she was home.

Anxious to help Iris adjust, Karen had gone ahead and had The Talk, telling her that Carlton was going to be a larger part of their lives on a daily basis—that eventually, he would be living with them. Aside from a few tears shed at the absolute certainty that Mommy and Daddy would never live together again and an expected concern about Mommy's work further encroaching on their lives given how Carlton was part of it, Iris had handled the new reality of her life with reasonable aplomb. It didn't hurt that she had Carlton absolutely wrapped around her little finger even though he wasn't as big a pushover as Iris imagined. He just had a surprising ability to reason with the little girl in a way that made her think she was getting her own way when in fact she was acquiescing to his requests—or at least meeting somewhere in the middle.

That state of affairs had also provided quite the memorable raised-eyebrow moment when Karen had pointed out the possibility of employing similar techniques with suspects rather than drawing his weapon.

Ah, well—baby steps.

In late spring, this house had appeared on the market, and as different as it had been from anything with which either of them were familiar, they'd nevertheless immediately known this was _their_ house. Karen couldn't help but feel there was a certain logical symmetry to it—she and Carlton weren't the kids they'd been, their relationship wasn't what it had been years earlier—it felt only natural that the house in which they would choose to live their lives together would be completely different from anything they'd envisioned back then.

That it be completely unique to who they were now.

They'd walked through that first time and marveled at how perfect it seemed, leaving Karen charmed and Carlton muttering under his breath about Fate _finally_ paying him back for all the buttmonkey moments. Buttmonkeyisms aside, they had made an offer, had it accepted—without Carlton having to dig up any dirt to use as leverage against any other potential bidders—and now, for the past six months, it had been _home_.

"Hey," she called out as he appeared in the kitchen entrance. "You're earlier than I expected."

"Santa Barbara is as secure as it's going to get," he said as he dropped briefcase and jacket on one of the tall kitchen stools. Coming up beside her at the counter he nuzzled the hair at her temple before dipping his head for a quick kiss that turned into a not-so-quick kiss. And another. And yet another, leaving her ever more breathless and clutching at his shoulders for support. Reluctantly drawing back, he pushed her hair from her face and smiled and God, how she _loved_ that smile. So natural and relaxed and so very hers.

"Any idiots who wreak New Year's havoc from this point on, they're O'Hara's problem. While I am yours for the next two days." He turned to lean against the counter, visibly tired, but his eyes the soft mellow blue they so commonly were within these walls.

"Just two days?" she teased as replaced the lid on dish in which the steaks marinated and gave the potatoes a final seasoning before shoving the roasting pan in the oven. No raucous New Year's party for them, thank you—just a quiet night, grilling steaks out on the patio, and later, bundling up and taking Iris down to the beach to watch the fireworks and bring in the new year as a family.

He crossed his arms, his grin broadening. "Don't want to wear out my welcome."

"Hardly a danger," she said with a sidelong glance as she poured Iris' favorite sweet glaze over the steamed baby carrots. She barely had time to set the pan to a low simmer before she found herself back in his arms, being well and thoroughly kissed.

Well and _thoroughly_.

"Where's Iris?" he murmured as he trailed kisses along her jaw.

"Taking a nap," she gasped as he pulled her close, her pelvis cradled intimately within his. "Told her she'd have to if she had any hope of staying up for the fireworks tonight."

His kisses gentled, even though his desire remained every bit as evident, a live-wire current turning her own muscles to absolute mush. "I'm glad you've had the last few days at home with her."

Karen sighed and ran her fingers through his hair, delighting in freeing the soft waves from Detective Lassiter restraint to Carlton abandon. The already-loosened tie went next, as did a couple of buttons on the ivory dress shirt. "The new schedule has worked well, hasn't it?" she said, rubbing her cheek against warm, hair-roughened skin and very nearly purring.

"It has." He sighed and held her close.

Beneath her cheek, his heart beat, steady and reassuring. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making it such an easy transition."

As she had promised herself, she'd implemented the twice a month four-day weekends, allowing Carlton to step in and take charge, while Juliet took on more of his duties. Overall, it had been good for everyone—especially her and Iris—leaving her wondering why she hadn't done it years earlier.

"It was for you and Iris."

At the simple sweetness of his words, Karen tightened her arms around his waist. "How do you do that?" she whispered.

"Do what?"

"Every time I think I can't possibly feel any more love for you than I already do, you somehow manage to say or do something that makes my heart feel as if it's about to absolutely overflow."

He went very still.

She drew back to find him gazing down at her, his eyes clouded to an unfamiliar opaque blue-gray. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked troubled.

No… wait a second—not so much troubled as nervous. But about what?

"What is it, baby?"

"I, um…" His hands moved from her back to take hers, lacing their fingers together tightly. "I was going to wait until tonight. On the beach. With Iris and the fireworks and all but somehow, with what you just said, this seems like the right time—"

Karen's brows drew together. "For what?"

He switched his hold on her hands, taking her left with his while he fumbled in his pocket. A second later, he pulled out a small box that he set on the counter behind her, the soft click as he opened it nearly lost against the pounding of her heart.

"It's New Year's and it seemed... right."

Karen stared as he slipped the ring on her finger, a delicate confection of twin rose gold bands studded with small diamonds, intersecting like vines and winding around a modest, yet brilliant diamond solitaire.

_Crossed paths..._ Her throat tightened as she looked up into his eyes, wide and still opaque with waiting. Of for God's sake—as if there was even any question.

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "You know, I'd actually forgotten."

His brows drew together into that wonderfully familiar frown, bisected by deep slashes. "Forgotten?"

"Yeah." Now she laughed, glancing down once more at the ring before meeting his gaze. How much she'd once wished to decipher all the mysteries in those myriad shades of blue. Older and hopefully wiser now, she understood there was only really one mystery living within the deep blue—how very much he loved her.

A mystery she was content to gradually uncover—for the next fifty or so years.

"I had honestly forgotten we hadn't done anything about making this formal." Cupping his cheek in her hand, she added, "Between the house and getting settled and adjusting to the new work schedule, I guess it just slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind?" His voice rose in pitch, trailing off weakly. "You do still want… I mean… Karen, please—"

Oh dear heavens, he looked so pitiful, she couldn't help but dissolve into giggles that only increased the alarm widening his eyes, leaving them huge and blue in his suddenly pale face. As she continued giggling, his alarm turned to aggravation overlaid with resignation as he cupped her elbows and kept her from sliding to the floor in an undignified heap.

"I take it this means yes?" he muttered, his dry voice penetrating the hilarity that had devolved into outright laughter punctuated by the occasional unladylike snort.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"I don't know, do I?"

Yeah, his voice was dry but at the same time, beneath the familiar Carlton Lassiter sarcasm, she heard a hint of uncertainty and fear and her heart constricted. The last thing she ever wanted to cause him was a moment's doubt. About anything, but most especially about her desire to stay with him the rest of her damned life.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she smoothed her palms across his shirt front, feeling the rapid beating of his heart.

"Would you?"

A sigh that matched hers escaped him at her soft request, but when he would have dropped to a knee, she stopped him, prompting yet another confused look. At least this one lacked uncertainty.

"No, baby—like before."

A half-smile relaxed the normally stern lines of his mouth. "Before we were naked and in bed."

A flush suffused Karen, leaving her warm and leaning more heavily against him. "We can repeat that part later," she said, feeling the flush deepen as he pulled her close. Lifting her hands to his face she briefly caressed his cheeks before sliding them back into his hair, sighing at the feel of the soft waves against her skin.

"It's just…" she paused to gather her thoughts. "When you proposed the first time, we were face to face." She studied his face, smiling as she read the emerging understanding. "We were equals—partners. I don't need you to be looking up at me when you ask me to share your life. I don't want it. I want us to be… face to face."

Carlton nodded then said, "Well, in that case—" and without preamble swept her into his arms. As Karen muffled a surprised cry against his shoulder, he climbed the stairs to their bedroom and shouldered the door closed. Gently, he set her on the bed and stretched out beside her, his hand resting possessively on her hip, his head on the pillow alongside hers.

Face to face.

Looking deep into her eyes he said simply, "Marry me." Capturing her hands in his, he brought them to his mouth, gently kissing the back of each. "Marry me, Karen, make a life with me, be my partner, and never, ever let me go."

As he spoke, his voice low and husky with certainty and love, Karen heard unmistakable echoes of the boy who'd asked her to share her life with him so long ago—an instant before he disappeared, leaving behind the man. The man who was now and forever her whole life. The man she loved.

In that moment, she said a final goodbye to the girl she'd been—said goodbye to the misunderstandings and the broken dreams and the anger carried for so long—and feeling herself utterly and completely the woman who belonged to this man, said the only thing she could possibly say.

"Yes."

_**~Fin~**_


End file.
